The Irony of Fate
by Amousca
Summary: A study of the twists of fate, and a major exercise of loose-ends-tying and wrapping-up of events between BG1 and BG2 regarding one NPC from BG1. I don't want to name him yet, so just read on, alright? Please?
1. A Fateful Departure

_I'm back writing BG stuff… believe it or not. I sure didn't believe it at first myself…_

_This is kinda more personal than what I usually write, and I feared that if I don't post it now, I'll lose the feeling and never get the nerve to revise and post it all. Because I think it's good and I might eventually get embarrassed about the personal part of it if I don't go with it right now._

_So here it is._

_Please, PLEASE, read and review, folks… I live for your reviews! (Alright, not quite, but almost!!!_

_**The Irony of Fate**_

Chapter I. A fateful departure.

Dawn was just breaking. It would be an overcast day, and the pale light slowly dissolving the night was a sad grey colour. Ilire leaned on the windowsill, watching her new husband ride out the gates of his family's estate. His anghekh full plate-mail and helmet, for all their polishing, failed to glint off as usual in the uncooperative light. His huge warhorse, a northern breed crossed with a smaller Amnish horse, never tired from carrying his rider and his armour even for the long road awaiting him back to Amn.

At the gate, her husband paused and turned on his horse to watch her standing at the window of their room on the third story. It was too far for her to see, but she could imagine the sadness on his face and the grave duty in his eyes. He stayed there, looking up at her across the courtyard, until a second horse arrived a few minutes later.

The second steed was also mounted by a man in full armour, and this one carried a banner emblazoned with the easily identifiable crescent of the Order of the Radiant Heart.

Her new husband turned from the window to face the banner carrier, and with one last look and one last wave at her, he pushed his horse at a slow walk down the street, towards the south, disappearing beyond the estate's gates.

He had left the Ilvastarr estate. Soon he would leave the wealthy district where his parents' house was. He would then exit Waterdeep, and ride down the Trade Way along the Sword Coast to Baldur's Gate. He would go further south on the Coast Way until at last he reached Athkatla and the chapter of his training.

He had been summoned by Sir Keldorn himself to be debriefed regarding the accomplishments of his Wanderings, and to be given a mission as one final test for his knighthood. He was awfully nervous about the whole process, but Ilire knew he had no cause to worry. He was as dedicated to the cause of his god as she was dedicated to the training with her blades.

She was happy for him that he would be soon accepted as a paladin in his own right by the Order, after all those years of training and serving, and this last year of Wanderings. Helm knew he had defeated more horrors than many paladins of the Order in just the last few months.

Still, it seemed rather unfair, even if Sir Keldorn had no way to know, with the slow transmission of messages being what it was, that her husband would be called away the very day following the official ceremony of their wedding. Cancelled, the honeymoon to Neverwinter when they were supposed to forget about fights and death and Bhaal and machinations to take over the world for a few days.

Ilire supposed she should be proud of herself to have put up a brave face when he had left their room that morning. She had smiled and told him to come back soon, because she would be waiting for him. She still wondered how he had convinced her that she should not follow. His arguments about danger along the road hardly seemed reassuring. Yet, she knew as well as he did that the Order would want him to accomplish this last mission alone and besides, there was Dynaheir who wanted to take full advantage of the libraries of Waterdeep, Imoen being too curious as usual and having unearthed worrisome rumours about Undermountain, and Jaheira and Khalid who were grateful for an occasion to spend some time with some of their fellow Harpers who they had not seen in a long time.

When her husband disappeared beyond the gate, Ilire turned and leaned back against the wall besides the window. She felt miserable because she could not quite shake the feeling that such partings were what awaited her for the rest of her days. That there would always be duty to be taken care of somewhere else, rather far from home; duty more important than her or whatever family they could have together.

She berated herself. He was going to be dubbed. What was she complaining about? Besides, what else had they done of the last year than take care of all _her_ problems? It was about time he did something for himself.

She angrily snatched her blades from the weapon stand and stalked the corridors silently until she exited in the backyard by a service door. She let the scabbards down on the ground by the door, and began warming up with stretches and slow thrusts.


	2. Reminders of Unglamorous Adventures

Chapter II. Reminders of unglamorous adventures

An hour after Ilire started her morning exercises, the risen sun had heated the humid atmosphere under the clouds to the point of almost unbearable heat. She was truly working hard now, panting in controlled breaths and sweat running down her face and making her clothes stick to her skin.

Block, thrust, parry, deflect, counterattack. Change leading hand. Block, thrust, parry, deflect, counterattack. Change leading foot. Block, thrust, parry, deflect, counterattack, parry, spin, slash. Change leading hand. Block, thrust, parry, deflect, counterattack, parry, spin, slash.

Moves came to her as symbols in her mind, quicker than words or images, and her body moved even before the thoughts of what she needed to do were fully formed.

She was interrupted by the sound of the door closing and she turned, panting, to see her new brother-in-law exiting the estate by the service door, with a long sword in an elegant scabbard at his left hip.

"Good day to you, my lady," Gotom greeted her with an easy smile. "Father, Mother, my wife and I were wondering if we should take our breakfast without you, but your companions told us you were probably training. Your friends have all left for their personal activities; they seemed to think that your exercises could take significant time. I told my family not to wait for us and that I would train with you, if you would?"

She nodded. "Thank you, I would appreciate it. I tire of fencing with empty air."

"Then we shall enjoy a brunch later on, so my beloved mother does not badger me about my manners in making a lady skip breakfast?"

She flashed a sly smile. "Your mother made friends easily with Jaheira, did she not? Don't worry, we will eat later and I will make sure Lady Ilvastarr has no cause to complain of your behaviour."

They bowed to each other, and Ilire sheathed her off-hand katana to face Gotom with a single weapon, the same as he.

"Oh, m'lady, you can keep your second weapon. You have already trained for over an hour, while I am fresh. It should equal our chances, don't you think?"

She hesitated slightly, but finally shrugged and took her katana again. They began circling each other, carefully watching the other's step, grip of weapons, and moves of the eyes.

Gotom tried a half-hearted attack, which Ilire parried easily. They exchanged a few thrusts and slashes, getting used to each other at an easy pace, since they trained with real weapons.

Suddenly Gotom lunged at her with a vicious, low slash to her left knee. She noted that he had been prepared to hold his blow back should her response be too slow. Her right katana caught his sword just below the guard and she spun, forcing her opponent's blade up and over her head. At the last moment she flicked her wrist not to cut his skin and the flat of the blade hit his neck, while his sword sailed past her, driven by the force of his own blow. Her second blade pointed at his side, ready to thrust into his abdomen.

He froze, looking at her grim expression, the sharpened steel cool against his neck. She took her weapons away and bowed slightly, before returning to her combat position. He swallowed and resumed. He tried every thrust, slash and move he knew. Each time she blocked, parried or sidestepped with brutal efficiency. Her strength was unsettling. His arm was tired from clashing with her blades, and she wielded two heavy katanas for over an hour without showing any sign of fatigue. Each move she made was precisely calculated, graceful and yet brutal, and executed with a carelessness and automatism that said she had seen it all before. He realized he mastered no move that she would not know how to block and answer to; she could easily see what he was going to try two or three slashes ahead.

At length he declared forfeit. He was trained with the blade and held no fear of the thugs roaming the poorer districts of Waterdeep, but his skill was in no way comparable to hers.

They bowed to each other and she sheathed her blades slowly and ceremoniously.

"Congratulations, m'lady."

She gave a pale smile and bowed again. "Thank you, m'lord."

They made their way inside. Just inside the door, they parted so they could change before they went to take their brunch and Sinna, Gotom's wife, took Ilire's arm to accompany her to the bathing chambers.

She giggled and elbowed Ilire gently. The two women, even if they did not know each other very well, got along surprisingly well. Ilire found it a relief to have something of a sister who did not entail all of Imoen's at times tiresome pranks.

"You so completely bested him," Sinna whispered conspiratorially.

Ilire smiled and shrugged. "Thank you, but your husband is very talented."

"But he could not land a single blow on you!"

The good-humoured smile faded slowly from Ilire's lips. "No, but he could defend himself against me, while he spends most of his life within the estate's walls, doing tasks of administration. He is very disciplined in the training with his sword and very skilled for someone who has so little time to dedicate to the training at arms."

Sinna smiled. "I see what you mean, but still, you beat him effortlessly."

The adventurer had a humourless smile. "I'm not belittling him. Training is one thing. Fighting for one's life is quite another. Besides the sheer amount of time I've spent with those two blades in my hands in the last year, fighting to survive puts some sense of urgency in your learning of fighting skills. Under the adrenaline of battle and the fear for your life, I assure you that every tiniest detail of the attacker's moves and strategies are forever imprinted in your mind." There was a shift to something far darker in Ilire's countenance. "Some adventurers I've met say that when you kill people, you can only remember the first ones, but that after some time you cannot remember their faces clearly. I don't know how people can get used to killing or being killed. I don't know how they can forget a single grimace of agony or scream of pain." She suddenly stopped, as if broken from a trance and reminded of reality. Sinna was very much aware at that moment that Ilire was a Child of Murder, even if she expressed revulsion towards so much death. Ajantis never spoke of the battles when he was home, only of the results, the peace he accomplished by these fights. Sinna suddenly wondered if her brother-in-law had similar, sinister thoughts about those they had to kill or be killed by.

"Adventure is not as glamorous as bards want to make it sound," Ilire concluded in an attempt at lightening the mood. "But there are things that need to be done, and there is not always a pleasant choice available to you. I'm glad that you and your family can choose what you will do of your life. I hope I will be given that chance too now, with Ajantis. But we won't shirk duty if it comes." Then she took a breath. "Forgive me for my dark words, Sinna. Ajantis' departure has put me in a dark mood, and I worry for his safety. The Sword Coast is not the safest place to travel on Toril, and I worry for him, even if I know he's well capable of taking care of himself."

Sinna bowed her head graciously, relieved that the subject was returning to a safer topic. "I understand, Ilire. I am sure Ajantis will be safe. No bandits would dare attack a battalion of men from the Order. Come, let us change and share some food, it will take your mind off your worries."

Ilire gave her a weak smile and followed her into the bathing chambers.

ooooo

A tenday later, Imoen had receded down into mild depression upon the discovery that the possible entrance into Undermountain she had heard about was all just a hoax to attract and rob fledgling adventurers. Obviously the thieves spreading the rumours had regretted their choice of prey for once. Imoen, for all the easy grins and the pink hair, was still a skilled rogue and a formidable mage… The city guard was very surprised when a band of mind-dominated thugs showed up on their doorstep, covered in magical glue and feathers, to confess all their crimes.

Dynaheir was beginning to show boredom regarding dusty tomes and expressed a healthy desire for seeing first hand all the monsters and try all the spells she had read about in the last days.

Minsc was as happy as ever participating in the training of Waterdeep's guards. His brash outspokenness had at first frightened the poor guard captain, but Dynaheir's petition in favour of her bodyguard's talents had not fallen on deaf ears. After witnessing the ranger's uncanny skill with his massive two-handed sword and his bow, the captain had been very grateful for Minsc's participation in the duties of the city guard.

Jaheira and Khalid had spent the last week at the Harpers' chapter, but now they were back at the Ilvastarr estate with the rest of Ilire's companions. Jaheira began to show her typical she-bear impatience to find herself outside of the confinement of city walls, and Khalid did his best to contain her.

The whole of Ilire's adventuring company was currently guests at the Ilvastarr estate. While the five invited companions had all been polite and slightly embarrassed to find themselves in a noble manor, it was still easy to get an accurate impression of their personalities. Minsc's enthusiasm for battle had been established quickly enough, although he obeyed Dynaheir and refrained from shocking the noble ladies with grand declarations about butt-kicking evil. The invoker's manners would not have been displaced in a royal court, and so she impressed the Ilvastarr family, who understood her need of an efficient bodyguard, even if he was simple-minded. Imoen was everything they expected of a little sister, mischievous but always well-meaning. Khalid was obviously timid and his stutter was noticed, but the Ilvastarr were too polite to comment, even Gotom's young son. As for Jaheira, her decisive attitude, sharp tongue and motherly aggressiveness and protectiveness towards Ilire had been easily spotted.

Ilire had said she would wait for Ajantis to come back, and she would. For the time being, her companions were enjoying the break from the incessant battle, and were not impatient enough to press her.


	3. Events Unfolding

Chapter III. Events unfolding

The smile on Gotom's lips when he arrived with a sealed letter, intruding upon Ilire's evening meditation, told her immediately whose letter it was. She jumped to her feet exuberantly. It was good to see her smile; Ajantis' absence obviously affected her and her brother-in-law wondered how she would fare with a paladin husband often away because of his duty.

Ilire happily snatched the letter from Gotom's hand and broke the seal, not even waiting for him to leave her alone to read her husband's letter. The nobleman nevertheless exited the small study she used to meditate, but waited just outside the door, impatient to finally get some news from Ajantis, just like the rest of the family.

When he peered back inside fifteen minutes later, Ilire was meditating again, the folded letter resting on the floor before her. He cleared his throat and she looked up to him.

"He went off to risk his life without me," she provided with a pale smile.

She seemed upset, and he could understand her. She was an adventurer and she had been awaiting word from him quietly at home for two weeks.

"What mission did he undertake?"

She shrugged. "He's marching to a lord's land in the east of Amn for some ogre chasing. He's in charge of a small group of squires. It shouldn't be too dangerous or too long. He received a leave of a month after this assignment; he should be able to finally spend some time with his family after being away for so long."

Gotom lifted an eyebrow and gave her a crooked smile. "While I would be delighted to spend some time with my brother, I do believe he will wish to be with his new wife."

She smiled again. "I would not wish to steal him from you. We've been traveling together and living together for over six months; I will understand if he wishes to see his family. It's been so long since he's been here for any length of time."

Gotom nodded. "Yes, but we all knew we would not see him much when he chose to become a paladin. We were prepared for that," he added with a hint of double-meaning.

She gave him a cool look. "Don't mistake me; I am very well prepared for that. What I doubt is that _he _is prepared to have an adventurer for a wife. And a grumpy druid for something of a mother-in-law." She grinned. "You see, my party's informant can't seem to understand that she's supposed to be on vacation, and she reports she sneaked upon the chambermaid telling one of the scullions that Jaheira is just about to wear a path down the floorboards of her room. I'm doing all I can, but I can't hold her in place much longer. Soon enough we'll have to see what 'that insufferable paladin who doesn't know the difference between gallantness and insulting patriarchy' has gotten himself into."

Gotom smiled at the image Ilire was painting of her druid companion. He could easily picture the half-elf pacing endlessly in her room while Khalid tried with some success to calm her down.

The nobleman gestured to the letter still on the floor. "Can I see what the 'insufferable paladin' has to say?"

She coloured slightly and separated the different sheets of parchment, extending him one. "Here is the one he intended for you all to read. He says the other half is just for me."

Gotom pretended not to notice Ilire's blush and embarrassment, and unfolded the letter to read about his brother's uneventful passage in Athkatla.

ooooo

When a month later no one at the Ilvastarr estate had received another word from Ajantis, Ilire wrote to the Order. Two days later, long before her letter could have reached Athkatla, she received a message from Lord Firecam.

_Lady Ilire Ilvastarr of Candlekeep,_

_Lord Ulguth and Lady Mara Ilvastarr,_

_Gotom and Sinna Ilvastarr,_

_Elina Sarris,_

_I request your forgiveness in receiving such a letter from a man you do not know. I am your humble servant, and I write on behalf of Squire Ajantis Ilvastarr. I trained him personally for many years and he spoke much of his beloved family to me. When he arrived from his Wanderings, he also had much to say of Lady Ilire of Candlekeep and the worthy battles he fought with you and your companions in the name of Light. Sir Ajantis therefore asked me to write to Lady Ilire and his family should he delay in his return to Waterdeep._

_Two tendays ago, 13 Myrtul, a missive arrived at the Order, informing us that his detachment of men at arms had arrived safely at the Windspear Hills, the lands of Lord Firkraag. Taking into account the scope of the orc invasion the landlord was complaining of, Ajantis planned to stay in the Windspear Hills for a tenday, and return some five days ago._

_I write to you as he requested of me, but I pray that you do not worry for his delay. It is probable that the hunt took more time than planned. In any event, we are sending reinforcements to insure Ajantis' and his men's safety._

_I transmit to you Ajantis' sincere apologies and regrets for not returning to you as soon as planned._

_Sincerely,_

_Sir Keldorn Firecam_

Since the letter was addressed to her first, Ilire was the first one to read it. She gave it to Ajantis's mother and her husband read it over her shoulder. Once Ajantis' parents were done, they looked up to their new daughter-in-law with unmistakable anxiety. After what had happened to their eldest son, they could not help but worry when one of their children was missing.

"Don't worry," Ilire tried to reassure them with a smile, "the Order already sent reinforcements. The orcs will be taken care of in no time."

"But what if the reinforcements arrive too late?", Lady Ilvastarr panicked.

Ilire shrugged carelessly. "Ajantis is more than up to facing a few orcs, especially if he's got a group of men with him. Mere monsters like orcs are no danger to him."

"_Mere _monsters?", Lord Ilvastarr croaked. "Orcs are intelligent and organized, and they almost burned the Sword Coast to the ground more than once."

Ilire gave him a warm reassuring smile. "Orcs _are_ intelligent and organized, and their raids are rightfully feared all over the Sword Coast," she conceded, "but they are still no match for squires of the Order. Ajantis is not a simple village guardsman anymore. We have done nothing but fight for the past half-year, and some of the things we faced were much worse than orcs. I say that orcs are 'mere' monsters because Ajantis has fought vampiric wolves, wyverns, one of Bhaal's death stalkers, and the gods remember what else, since he began travelling in my party. Orcs are pretty high on the list of dangers, but only if they outnumber you. Obviously this will not happen to Ajantis and his contingent of men of the Order." She took a breath. "Nevertheless, I think it's about time I check his determination."

Lord Ilvastarr frowned. "His determination? What do you mean?"

She smiled fondly. "Ajantis once said that he could imagine having a wife by his side while he lives on the road. I think it's about time I remind him of that."

"Not a second too soon," Jaheira grumbled under her breath. Khalid smiled knowingly and put an arm around her shoulders to pacify her.

"For once I agree with Mother Jaheira," Imoen quipped, edging carefully around Minsc's hulking mass to be out of range of the druid, "it's going to be good to hit the road again! All this noble house and noble quarters are nice, but my fingers are getting itchy… Uh…"

The thief had failed to notice that while she did put herself in safety from Jaheira, the move would make her well within range of her sister.

"I said no stealing!" Ilire exclaimed, snatching her sister by the ear, although she did not twist very hard.

"My, Ilire, you have no idea how to do that," Dynaheir observed amusedly. "Let me show you."

She made to move to Imoen, but the thief shrieked in mock terror and slipped away from her sister, disappearing up one of the service stairways to gather her gear in her room.

Ilire shook her head. "How quickly did I forget the joys of party leading," she observed out of the corner of her mouth to Sinna.

She got a smile and a chuckle out of Lord Ilvastarr.


	4. The Order's Conclusion

Chapter IV. The Order's Conclusion

Lady Sinna Ilvastarr sat daintily in her cushioned armchair and wriggled her hands, letting her cup of tea cool slowly on the low table in front of her. She rested in one of the small studies, taking the mid-morning tea alone, since Lady Mara was unwell. The worry for Ajantis, and now for Ilire and her companions, taxed the fragile older woman's health.

Because of Lady Mara's indisposition, much of the estate business was resting on Sinna's shoulders at the moment. Despite the amount of responsibility it represented, Sinna liked the job. She had been taught and raised to be a lady of proper standing and a capable regent to an estate and its lands if need be, should her father or, later, husband go away for some reason. She was talented at what she did. She knew when her presence was required to hold a household together and when she could allow herself the luxury of some time alone to reflect and tend to her own emotional turmoil.

She took advantage of one of those moments right then. It was four tendays since last they had heard about Ilire. The adventuress had regaled them about tales of the road; the weather was fair for so late in the fall, and there had been no shortage of antics, either from her companions or from the group of merchants who had hired them as escort. Ilire and her team received some gold to accompany and ensure the caravan's safety from Daggerford, a small town just south of Waterdeep, down to Baldur's Gate. Ilire had related in her last letter how Jaheira had used her druidic talents the day before to convince a bear to walk ahead of them for half the day to scare away three bands of brigands trying to ambush them.

It was the first and only letter the Ilvastarr had received from Ilire and her companions. The kensai had been less than a day from Baldur's Gate, and had taken advantage of her chance meeting on the road with a messenger heading north to send a message to Waterdeep. There had been no word from her since.

As if Ilire's prolonged silence had not been cause enough for worry, the Ilvastarr manor had received a long letter from Lord Firecam two tendays ago. The paladin had tried, rather unsuccessfully, to conceal his worry under his best assurances that everything possible was done to explain Ajantis' delay and to find him.

After two tendays without news from Ilire, a very worried Lord Ulguth had written another missive to the Order, a lengthy letter explaining his concern over the disappearance of first his son, then his new daughter-in-law. The possibility of an organized attempt at harming his family, either for ransom or for vengeance, understandably worried Lord Ulguth. He had doubled the guard to his estate.

Sinna did not really know what to think of all this. She was troubled at the prospect of someone wanting revenge against the Ilvastarr family and would not go to the market or the theatre alone anymore, while she had been a considerably adventurous lady before. She was also very worried for Ilire, even if she knew her new friend was a tenacious and capable fighter. Ilire would not have stopped sending letters unless something grave was happening, and the same could be said about Ajantis.

Sinna so wished that this family, which had already been faced with the death of a child, would not have to mourn another son and his new wife.

She wished she would not lose the vibrant, lively new friend she had made, whom had seen so much of the world even though she was barely twenty years-old. Sinna wished she would still hear Ilire's incredible tales of adventure and the mundane, simple facts of life that changed when one lived on the road, in inns and such.

A servant suddenly knocked on the door, came in and bowed.

"Yes, Sally?", Lady Sinna greeted.

"An armed and armoured man awaits in the hall, milady. He asked to see the Lord and Lady of the house. I sent Rus to Lord Ulguth, but while Lady Mara is indisposed, I thought you would be the Lady of the house. Do you wish me to go find your husband?"

"Please do, Sally. Did the man name himself?"

"He introduced himself as Sir Keldorn Firecam, a humble paladin of Torm."

Sinna paled at the news. It was improbable a man of such importance to the Order and a rightful Lord would come all the way from Athkatla to Waterdeep to deliver happy, casual news. Sinna allowed herself a moment to regain control of her senses. Once she was certain she would not faint, she stood.

"Please find Gotom and bring him to the salon."

The servant bowed. "Immediately, Lady Sinna."

Sinna crossed the manor on unsteady feet, walking slowly so she would give off the impression of calm countenance. She reached the hall all too quickly for her liking. Lord Ulguth was already there, standing with Lord Firecam in uneasy silence.

"Ah, Sir Keldorn, here is my daughter-in-law I spoke to you of, Lady Sinna Ilvastarr. Sinna, Sir Keldorn Firecam."

She curtsied, "Lord Firecam."

He kissed her hand like a perfect gentleman. "Lady Sinna."

He straightened and she observed his features for the first time. While an older man, he could be no more than forty-five, and still fit and strong. His armour was lined with dust from the road and she realized that he had come to their estate first thing upon arriving in Waterdeep.

"Milord, you must be exhausted from the journey. Would you wish some refreshment? A cup of tea? A glass of wine?"

His hair and beard were streaked with grey, and his black eyes had a definitively fatherly kindness in them, although he was a man obviously tired from the physical exertion of a long ride and weighted by sorrow and responsibility.

He smiled in an exhausted kind of way. "That is very kind of you to offer, milady. A glass of wine would be most welcome."

She gesture to one of the servants waiting in the corner, and the man left after a slight bow.

Sinna joined in the uneasy silence. She wondered why it was necessary to wait for her husband at all, since everyone knew by then that the news was dire. The servant came back with the wine. Sir Keldorn accepted it with a polite nod and sipped on it.

When Gotom arrived, he paused uncomfortably at the door before stepping in.

"Sir Keldorn," Lord Ulguth began once the introductions were over, "I take it you have news?"

The paladin took a breath. "Indeed I have, Lord Ulguth. I come here in my quality of member of the Order, as well as friend to Ajantis. I have personally spent a month in the Windspear Hills, searching for any sign of him, and then another tenday on the road he should have taken to come and go back. No trace of him could be found."

He paused shortly so the three people in the room could realize the importance of his words. The only woman sank in a chair, a hand over her heart. Her husband went to stand next to her and put a hand on her shoulder, his mouth set in a straight line.

"I am deeply sorry to announce you that the Order has declared Squire Ajantis Ilvastarr deceased, disappeared on the line of duty."

Sir Keldorn bowed his head and took a step back. Sinna stood up on unsteady legs and turned to her father-in-law. He slowly lifted his hand to cover his face. She let out a sob and took him in her arms. While Lord Ulguth was usually very controlled and official, he suddenly threw his arms around her and buried his face in her shoulder, shaking with tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she cried with him. She felt Gotom's left hand on her back, and his right hand went to squeeze his father's shoulder.

After a while Lord Ulguth drew back. Sinna wiped her face carefully with her handkerchief.

"Sir Keldorn? What of Ilire?", she inquired.

The paladin took another long, steadying breath. "She has also vanished, but we are not ready to declare her missing definitively yet. I have come to Waterdeep in part to investigate about her disappearance; she never reached the Order's headquarters in Athkatla, even though her message informed us she planned to arrive a month ago. I have found trace of her and her companions in Baldur's Gate, but not further. An innkeeper told me they stayed at his inn for two nights, then left south. On my way back to Athkatla, I will stop in Baldur's Gate, and I assure you I will do everything I can to find her trail. Rest assured, we are doing everything within our power to find her."

Sinna nodded tearfully. Lord Ulguth cleared his throat. "Sinna?"

"Yes, Lord Ulguth?"

"Would you come with me? I do not have the courage to announce this to Mara alone."

Her face became stricken. "Of course."

Lord Ulguth shook Keldorn's hand and Sinna curtsied. She took her father-in-law's arm and they left the room. Gotom waited until the door closed safely behind them, and the sound of their footsteps faded down in the corridor.

"Sir Keldorn, did you really find no trace of Ajantis? Or did you wish to spare my wife the account of a gruesome discovery?"

The old paladin shook his head wearily. "No, milord, I meant that we found no trace at all. Innkeepers and villagers along the way told us that the contingent passed through the lands, and all leads to think that they reached the Windspear hills safely. Lord Firkraag assured us they met once. They were supposed to return to him for a report after a few days, but they never did, and Lord Firkraag sent a message to the Order shortly after this. Lord Firkraag has been very helpful in the search of his lands, but we could find no hint of the passing of Ajantis' group. It is as though they all just vanished."

Gotom considered a while in silence. "That is unsettling. Could they have been attacked and taken prisoners?"

Keldorn shook his head. "It doesn't seem probable. We would have received a ransom demand by now, and we would have found traces of a fight. There is a mystery in this, but we do not possess the luxury of time to study it as we might like. There is Ilire's disappearance and some trouble in Athkatla that the Order needs to see to."

"So you have given up on Ajantis?" Gotom regretted his harsh accusing tone the second it left his lips, but the words were already out of his mouth. His brother was missing; it felt wrong that search for him should be abandoned because of another matter that seemed more important.

Keldorn's eyes spoke of heavy sorrow. "No, we have not, Lord Gotom. Please keep in mind that I have trained Ajantis as a squire myself. I think of him as a friend, and he was a very good man whom I wished to see live a long and happy life. The only thing we did not do to find him in Windspear is turn every stone to see if there might be a trace of his passage under it. We did not give up; there is simply nothing else to try."

Gotom nodded in shame and pain. "Please forgive my inconsiderate words, Sir Keldorn. In my sorrow I forgot that you also lost a friend."

The old paladin put a fatherly hand on his shoulder. The two of them shared their pain in silence for a while, and then Gotom took an audible breath.

"And what of Ilire? Is there any hope yet to find her, or did she disappear like Ajantis?"

"At first, she seemed to have vanished, but she left more traces; the Coast Way is more populous than the farmland between Athkatla and Windspear. We have not yet followed every lead we have uncovered about her passage, but I assure you that we will investigate matters further when we reach Baldur's Gate on the way south. We will stay on the Sword Coast as long as necessary to find her."

"Unless she has vanished with all her companions, as did Ajantis," Gotom pointed out, alarmed. "Please answer truthfully to me, Sir Keldorn. Do you think the two events are somehow linked? Do you think it is a blow intended for the Ilvastarr family and not just two chance events?"

The paladin considered his words carefully. "The disappearance of two such seasoned adventurers is suspect in any case, but I do not think the events are related to your family. There would have been some threats delivered, or some other words from the villains."

Gotom nodded. "That makes sense. As dire as our loss is, it does ease my mind to think that the rest of my loved ones are safe."

"I understand you. I have a wife and two daughters myself, and the only thing I can imagine being worse than losing one, is to fear that someone has designs on the life of the other."

Gotom took a breath. "It is very considerate of you to have come to deliver us the news in person. It could not have been an easy journey from Athkatla. On behalf of everyone, I thank you. Maybe we could offer you accommodations for your stay in the city?"

"Thank you for your kindness, but I have quarters at the Order here in Waterdeep. I understand that your family needs some privacy right now. Send for me at the Order should you need anything; I will send messages to you as often as possible when I journey back south."

The two men shook hands, and Keldorn bowed his head before leaving. Gotom took a moment, then, to send the servants away. He sank in the chair and buried his face in his hands.


	5. The Search

_Sorry for the month of disappearance, folks. And, err, sorry for the piece of life… just skip ahead to the story if I bother you…_

_I swear, for a while there around July 24__th__ I was convinced that damned ship (the CCGS Amundsen) would never leave the port, but believe it or not, it DID. Today is the 26__th__ day in a row that I've worked. Some piece of advice: don't try to move your lab from your university to a ship when you work with gas chromatography. It's work for crazy people like me. The damned piece of equipment weighs like 80kg and is as fragile as dried leaves. And you have to move it 2 or 3 floors down in a ship's steeeep stairways. But now the lab is all set up on the ship and waiting for me, all set and ready, for when I get onboard in 9 weeks._

_Well, at least I've lost 5lb and gained some nice biceps. And my advisor was very comprehensive when I said I'd disappear for a week on vacation. And I got to have a nice, cool, wine drink. I guess that's some sort of compensation ;)_

_So that explains the long absence. I'm back to having a life now (at least, I hope so!), and should start updating more regularly again. Until I disappear another 6 weeks in the Canadian far north (North-West Passage) in October. Darn, it was hard watching the Amundsen go with all those people I've gotten to know in the past month, and me staying on the wharf… I can't wait until it's my turn now!_

_And on with the story… that's the reason you're here after all…_

Chapter V. The search

The Ilvastarr received many messages from Keldorn, as promised, while the paladin journeyed south and then investigated around Baldur's Gate for many days. Gotom found his letters more controlled than their private talk, and suspected the paladin was withholding painful information from them to spare their sensibilities.

However, there came a day when the Ilvastarr felt Sir Keldorn's research was slowing to a standstill, and four days later, they received his last letter written near Baldur's Gate.

_Lord Ulguth, Lady Mara, Gotom and Sinna Ilvastarr, and Elina Sarris,_

_We have concluded our investigation today. I had written a few days ago to inform you that we had found partial evidence that Ilire and her companions might have found themselves embroiled in a fight. Following our lead, we confirmed our suspicions. We have discovered the site of the fight, and turned the place upside down in our search for any hint of the outcome._

_It was very difficult to draw conclusions, but we finally were able to determine that Ilire and her companions lost the battle. All the signs led us to believe they were taken prisoners. We have found those who captured them and questioned the ruffians extensively. We have uncovered much greater felony than we expected; those bandits were subjected to the effects of a geas, and we could not withdraw any information from them before the foul spell took their lives for their failure to carry out their next orders. We could not save their souls the grim fate awaiting them, even with the help of High Watcher Seadell, the priest of Helm in charge of the temple in Baldur's Gate._

_Since there is little even an inquisitor such as I can do against the magical power of a geas, we have petitioned Halbazzer Drin of the Sorcerous Sundries for help to discover who had ordered Ilire taken prisoner. Even this experienced mage has been unable to unravel the protections granted by the geas to the minds of the thugs who battled Ilire._

_In the absence of a more experienced spellcaster we knew of in Baldur's Gate, we have decided we should go back to Athkatla and search for assistance from another trustworthy and capable mage who would hopefully be more powerful than Halbazzer Drin. The relationship between the Cowled Wizards and the Order being what it is, we are forced to acknowledge that our chances to discover anything else about Ilire's disappearance are slim._

_Sir William Synecho, an experienced inquisitor and an old friend of mine, volunteered to stay in Baldur's Gate in case some word of Ilire resurfaced. We have also received the unconditional support of the Flaming Fist in our search. Out of gratitude for what Ilire did to insure peace between the Sword Coast and Amn, they have guaranteed their stalwart vigilance, and that they will provide any assistance she might require should they find trace of her._

_The rest of my company will go back to Athkatla and hope that luck smiles on us, and that we may find another mage with the ability to pierce the mystery of the geas._

_I offer my deepest regrets that I have no more certitude to offer. Please rest assured that the Order will not sit idly by, and continue to search for Ilire and her companions in any way we can._

_Sincerely,_

_Sir Keldorn Firecam_

ooooo

Sir Keldorn was weary and disheartened when he finally reached the Order headquarters. It was yet another day spent losing time, waiting, meeting wizards and dismissing their help out of hand because of their obvious evil or lack of necessary power. The first days, there had been more worthy candidates, but as time went by, the Order rather exhausted the pool of applicants.

That night, when Keldorn arrived at the Order, Prelate Wessalen was waiting for him. The aged paladin was a man who bore the weight of responsibility well, but every senior member of the Order could recognize the Prelate's 'I-don't-want-to-say-this-but-I-have-to' look.

"Sir Keldorn, might I have a word with you?"

"Of course, Prelate."

The two men made their way to the office of the leader of the Order's chapter of Athkatla. The Prelate closed the door behind them and gestured to Keldorn to sit down, while he took his own chair.

"Did you have any success with today's interviews, Sir Keldorn?"

The paladin shook his head tiredly. "Unfortunately not, Prelate. I fear we have exhausted the population of mages of Athkatla. There might be a few people worth questioning in the surrounding towns of Amn or near our borders with the Sword Coast, but I fear that every spellcaster in Athkatla has been subjected to our examination."

Wessalen nodded thoughtfully. "I was afraid so."

In the dragging silence, the old leader tried to find the right words to voice his dismissal, even though Keldorn clearly knew what orders were to come next.

"I know you have invested many personal feelings in this search, Sir Keldorn, but I fear the time has come to acknowledge that you have done everything that you could."

Keldorn gave a long-suffering sigh. "Aye, I was coming to that conclusion myself."

There was a short silence.

"I am sorry," the Prelate said softly.

Keldorn nodded. "It is difficult for one such as me, who has seen so many battlefields in my life, to accept to sit idle with the knowledge that someone is being held prisoner. It is even harder to give up the search, because I know the captor must be someone very dark indeed, if he employs people willing to submit to geases."

"I understand."

The inquisitor drew a breath. "Was there… any task you wished me to accomplish, Prelate?"

The older man cleared his throat. "You have been on duty constantly for the past two months. Perhaps you ought to take a few days leave?"

Keldorn shook his head. "I would rather continue the search for a capable spellcaster, however fruitless, if the Order does not require my services more urgently. I feel a duty to Ajantis' wife – he was my squire, and I was supposed to train him until Helm's service was as safe as it could be. Moreover, Ilire was abducted on her way here, to try and correct our failure in protecting the life of her husband."

Wessalen nodded. "I understand. There are troubles, however, which the Order must see to, and I could think of no one I would trust with this mission as I would trust you."

"I am listening, Prelate."

"There is a cult rising in Athkatla. The church of Helm is concerned about the likely possibility that it is a worship of a false god. They have asked for the Order's help in the matter. There is a stirring among the faithful of the temples, and High Watcher Oisig is worried that this cult asks unwarranted sacrifices of its followers."

"What sort of sacrifice is asked?"

"There are rumours that people are forced to remove their own eyes."

Keldorn stared unblinkingly at his superior for two seconds. "I will investigate this matter first thing tomorrow morning."

Wessalen bowed his head. "Thank you, Sir Keldorn. I knew I could count on you. Considering the nature of the cult, I feared letting anyone but someone possessed of your faith deal with this matter."

"Such a cult will likely be dangerous. Can I expect reinforcements?"

"With the Fallen Paladins spoiling our reputation, the Shadow Thieves and their adversaries killing people on the streets, the Docks out of control and the political agitation regarding the ascension of that strange wizard – Xzar – in the Cowled Wizards' organization, I fear I have few knights of experience to spare."

Keldorn nodded understandingly. "The first few days should be relatively without danger as I gather information on the cult and such. Only when it is time to strike will I require assistance. Perhaps in a few days time you will be able to liberate some warriors?"

"That should be possible," Wessalen agreed. "Sir Ryan Trawl tells me he could contact his squire, a young warrior-priest by the name of Anomen Delryn, if need be. The young man recently left for his Wanderings, but I am told he is still within the city walls."

Keldorn's brow drew together in thought. "Anomen Delryn? Is he the poor boy whose father made a scene when he was squired?"

Wessalen nodded. "Yes. He is a good lad, even if very undecided regarding his place in the world. Sir Ryan tells me his skill at arms is faultless. Would you like me to tell Sir Ryan to summon him?"

Keldorn shook his head. "No. The poor boy would probably think he's recalled for his Test before he even started his Wanderings. Perhaps I will go ask him my assistance personally if you can find no one else in a few days time."

"Very well, Sir Keldorn. I hear he stays at the Copper Coronet at the moment, should you need to meet with him."

Keldorn nodded absently, wondering what strange place for a man in the full armour of the Order to dwell.

"That will be all, Sir Keldorn."

The paladin stood and bowed. "Have a good night, Prelate."

Keldorn, even though he was dead tired, resisted the urge to just go to his cell and collapse on the bed after he extirpated himself from his armour. Instead, he gathered his belongings, slung his pack over his shoulder and made his way to the Government district. It was well after dark, and there was talk of vampires loose on the streets at night, so Keldorn kept to the main roads and well-lighted alleys. He reached his familial estate without troubles and in little time.

When he came in, Peony poked her head out of the kitchen and, when she saw it was him, she made a joyous smile.

"Master Keldorn! What a joy to see you! It's been so long since you've been here!"

To Keldorn, it seemed her smile was a bit forced, but he could not understand why, so he let it go. He smiled back.

"There have been many grave matters to be taken care of at the Order, but I am back home now."

Upon hearing the voice of her husband, Lady Maria interrupted her reading of a tale to her two daughters. While the youngest one was still young enough to listen raptly to every detail, it was obvious that the teenager was thoroughly bored with the tales and wished she could read something more adventurous before going to bed. However, she refrained for the sake of her young sister.

At the sound of their father's voice, both girls jumped up and ran to crash into Keldorn.

He laughed and hugged both children.

"Dad!", Vesper exclaimed. "You haven't been here in _ages_!"

"It's true, but I'm back now."

Surprising movement out of the corner of his eye, he lifted his head and saw his wife on the threshold between the dining hall and the waterpiece. She stood there with a small smile, wearing her favourite gown, the one draped over with many layers of interwoven blue and white veil. Keldorn smiled a private smile to her. She lowered her eyes and blushed, embarrassed by his manner in front of their children.

Keldorn was forced to read the rest of the tale before he could send both his daughters to bed and bathe. When he reached the chambers he shared with Lady Maria, she was in a bathrobe and brushing her long, golden hair, sitting facing her mirror.

"You have been away for two months, Keldorn," she began.

Although her voice was soft, the reproach in it was unmistakable. He sighed and gently took the brush from her, starting to pull it along her hair gently.

"I know, Maria. I so often wanted for you to be there, so I would have someone to confide in and ease the heaviness of my heart. I asked Prelate Wessalen to send a message to you explaining my journey to Waterdeep. Did he not write to you?"

She nodded, looking at him with her clear blue eyes in the mirror. "He did. I'm sorry for Ajantis." Knowing the young man would miss his family, Lady Maria had invited him for supper many times during his training as a squire. With his impeccable manners and his ease with the children, he had conquered Maria's heart.

"On the way to Waterdeep and back," Keldorn explained, "we learned more about Ilire's disappearance. You must have heard about her; she is this Child of Bhaal who is the Hero of Baldur's Gate. She also married Ajantis a few months ago, and she disappeared soon after her husband. I had to search for her."

Maria nodded. Keldorn thought her silence peculiar, but he did not give it much thought.

"With Ajantis missing because of a mission I sent him to, and in my inability to find any trace of him, I felt responsible for Ilire's safety. I did my best to fulfil my duty and find what had happened to her, but it has proven difficult. I spent weeks searching for traces of her in Baldur's Gate."

"I know. I received your letters," Maria said. It seemed to Keldorn her voice was a bit cold, but he dismissed it.

"I have just recently returned to Athkatla. I wanted to come back to you, but I needed a few days to do research here."

"I see."

"Prelate Wessalen and I discussed tonight. There doesn't seem to be anything left for me to try. Much as I loathe admitting it, I failed to locate Ilire."

There was a silence. Keldorn set down the brush, but kept caressing her hair slowly.

"Will you stay with us a while?" Maria asked carefully.

"Duty calls again. There is a cult that needs investigating. I will begin my inquiries tomorrow. It is a dark cult, and it warrants swift intervention."

"Of course."

She rose, freeing her hair from his grasp, and walked to the bed woodenly. Her displeasure was so obvious that Keldorn felt forced to justify himself further.

"The cult states a new god has risen, but the Watchers received no indication that it is the case. It is more likely that the worship is of a false god, which lulls followers with promises of power to exact some price on them. There has been talk of people gouging out their own eyes in accordance to the teachings of that cult."

Maria made a face while she removed her bathrobe. "I am sure I do not need to hear any gruesome details, Keldorn," she snapped.

She lay down in bed and carefully arranged the covers over herself. Keldorn stayed nonplussed by her sudden avoidance of his presence. After a few seconds of hesitation, he put out all but one of the candles in the room, disrobed and entered the covers besides her.

His advances were met with a stony absence of response and a firm, "Good night, Keldorn."

Sighing, he stretched and snuffed out the last candle, settling to sleep in the comfortable bed. The bed was almost too comfortable; he had grown unaccustomed to such luxuries and he turned around in the bed a while before he could find a comfortable position in the too soft matress and drift off to sleep. His wife ungraciously accepted his arm around her to sleep.


	6. A Lonely Lady and a Furious Master

_See, I hold my promises :)_

Chapter VI. A lonely lady and a furious master

The next morning, Keldorn left at the first hint of greyish light in the sky. Lady Maria ordered Peony to watch the children and prepare them breakfast when they would wake. The servant needed no explanation why her mistress felt the need for loneliness this morning. The disgruntled lady exited the estate and went to sit on the beautiful fountain's ledge in the Firecam courtyard.

She played idly in the water with one hand, but her thoughts were elsewhere than on the refreshing touch of the cool water between her fingers. She had put on her black and grey robe this morning, the saddest of all she had, but Keldorn had not even noticed it, no doubt already absorbed in thoughts of his next assignment. To think the man would dare making advances when he did not even stay twelve hours in the house, after two long months of absence. Two months writing to her how terrible life was, out there in the Order; he did not even have the courtesy of leaving her an address where she could write back with a vengeance to tell him how miserable life was at home without him. Sometimes when she was particularly lonely and frustrated, like this morning, she thought ungraciously that if the Order finally succeeded in making her a widow, life would not feel so unfair and cruel.

The gall Keldorn had to tell her that he felt duty to another man's wife, duty enough to spend months searching for Ajantis, then his wife, while leaving his own wife and two daughters alone.

Her cheeks were flushed in anger, she knew, and she was glad she was alone by the well and not in a reception where ladies faultlessly noticed these things. Why was there always duty, then another duty, and then again another duty, keeping him away from his family? When had his family ceased to be an important priority in his life? How could he care so much about strangers foolish enough to gouge out their own eyes at their cult's request, if he could not even care to spend a day at home and ask how his daughters were doing at school? How were the estate's finances going? What should be done with the very young Lord Kartal who had asked for Leona's hand, even though she was only fourteen? It was becoming humiliating to have to keep telling him that she had not had an occasion to discuss matters with her husband, and that he should await the opinion of the young lady's father on the matter.

She was so deep in her thoughts that she did not notice anyone's approach before she heard his voice, "Why, my lady, is this not a very sad gown?"

She looked up to the elegantly dressed man and his two guards in radiant tabard over sparkling armour. All noble that he was, she was in no mood for flippantness.

"I would think, my lord, that it is very improper for a man to comment on a woman's choice of gowns," she snapped.

His pleasant smile faded to be replaced by seriousness. "Please forgive me, my lady, I meant no disrespect. You seemed lost in thought and I merely wished to lighten your mood."

She relented. Slightly. "I could better forgive you if I knew your name, my lord."

The easy smile returned. He removed his hat, revealing his grey, thinning hair, and it was more obvious now that he was considerably older than her or Keldorn.

"Sir William of Thorpe, at your service, my lady."

At least he had the decency not to request her name in return, but she felt more generous already.

"And I am Lady Maria Firecam."

He took her hand briefly and kissed it, and when he gave no indication of leaving, she realized she had been expecting him to turn his attention elsewhere, just like she always felt Keldorn did. She flushed anew in anger and shame, and hastily cast her eyes downward.

"Pray tell, my lady, how have I offended you? Please forgive me."

She waved him off impatiently, annoyed at herself. "You have not offended me. Please forgive my moodiness; I… am having a difficult day."

The man nodded once, and then with a move of the hand commanded his guards to step back a little distance.

"So early, and already a difficult day?" he inquired.

She sighed. "Yes, well, husbands who happen to be knights of the Order of the Radiant Heart tend to disregard what wee hour of the morning they choose to leave."

"Ah, I see," he answered. "And what late hour of the night they come back at, I presume."

She looked at him, flushing in scandalized embarrassment. How dare he suggest in such a way that her nights were lonely? "If you mean to imply…" she began angrily.

He lifted his hands in surrender. "Not at all, my lady. I merely observe that you look exhausted. Perhaps I could offer you a cup of tea to help you to wake up?"

She looked at him coolly. She should refuse; it was obviously improper, after all. Although, being in the mood she was in, she suddenly sent thoughts of propriety and Keldorn's opinion to the Nine Hells and beyond.

"That would be most kind of you, Sir William," she answered.

ooooo

"What?"

The ominous, false calm hinted to in that simple statement from Master Firkraag sent little shivers of dread up Conster's spine, and he willed his shaking legs to steady. Even in his human form, Master Firkraag was a terrifying entity.

"As I said, Master Firkraag, I have lost track of Ilire of Candlekeep near Baldur's Gate. A most unpleasant experience it was to try to locate her again through the layers of spell that have been woven over my scrying beacon."

Red dragons were known for their temper, and Conster knew he was putting one in a very foul mood with each further word. He therefore fell silent. The silence dragged on, as ominous as the tightly controlled calm of earlier.

"You know, Conster, the day started marvellously. I watched those foolish knights of the Order getting up, shaving and polishing their armour, thinking it is yet again their first day of search for orcs in the Windspear Hills. So I feel generous today," Master Firkraag pronounced. "I will therefore give you a chance. I will try myself to pierce the enchantments put over your spell. If I fail, you will be safe. If I succeed, however, it will be proof of your incompetence, and I will roast you and eat you as appetizer for lunch. Now. What did you use to scry for Gorion's ward?"

Conster, big beads of sweat rolling on his forehead, extended a shield-shaped brass button to his master. At his questioning frown, he explained, "I took it from Ajantis. It's a button from her weapon straps, which she gave her husband as a symbol that he is her defender."

The human-shaped dragon snorted in a very reptilian matter. "How very touching."

Firkraag uttered the incantations, waved his hands, and poured his spell components. He plunged deep into the spells, following the scrying beacon put in place by Conster. He soon hit the first veil of spells, and tore it apart effortlessly. He managed to tear through five of the many more levels of protection. The one who had created those veils of magic was a master of the Weave, while Firkraag was a dragon more intent on amassing a hoard of material treasures than of mental knowledge. The dragon was far enough in the searching spell, however, to get wisps of Gorion's ward, and general impressions of where she was.

He recognized easily where she was, who she was dealing with, and lingered a while, tasting the sweetness of her suffering and making mental scores of what would need settling between him and the mage who for now deprived him of his revenge.

He emerged from the spell after a short while, an expression of lust on his face still; how he wished it was his claws that inflicted such pain on her, and not some aseptic spell or knife from the mad mage of Waukeen's Promenade.

Conster's knees could be heard knocking together when Firkraag emerged from the spell with lust in his eyes. Obviously, Conster misinterpreted the object of his master's desire. The dragon took great amusement in his slave's fear.

"Those spells were obviously too much for you to overwhelm, since even I, in my great knowledge, could not unravel them. I did not really need to try, however, since I could recognize the mage who made them."

"You could, great Master?" Conster asked, relief making his knees give way partly. "Who is it, then?"

"The mad one, Jon Irenicus. He is holding Gorion's ward captive."

Conster's expression turned to dismay. "Captive? Then your revenge is denied! She was meant to come here in search of her husband, but how can she, then?"

Firkraag smiled, and his teeth looked disturbingly sharp. "Oh, I do believe Irenicus has bitten into something too big for him this once. He will not hold her forever. Ajantis and the others are mine; as long as Ilire does not come here, they are trapped in the loop of time. They will never escape it. I can wait for Gorion's ward to escape Irenicus. Weeks, or months, I care not. She will."

Conster smiled ecstatically. "Master Firkraag, the cleverness of your mind amazes me. I wish only to be worthy of serving you and bask in the glory of your intelligence."

Firkraag let out a low, rumbling draconic laugh. He almost purred in pleasure. "You have some future in serving me, Conster."


	7. Lonely Misery in the Darkness

_Hi! Back on once-a-week regular schedule :)_

_Please, read and review!_

Chapter VII. Lonely Misery in the Darkness

Ilire pulled at her binds with all her might, increased tenfold by her pain, fear and anger. She screamed when the mad one slipped a finger in the cut he had just made across her abdomen. Her whole body went limp and filled with the sensation of crawling ants. Her head fell back down on the merciless stone table and rolled helplessly from side to side, all wind gone from her. Her torturer did something to her insides that felt nauseatingly like he hooked her intestines with a finger.

Pain was too much. Consciousness slowly slipped away, and she welcomed it. If only she could die. Everything would stop then. It could not go on like this.

"Pain will only be passing," the mad one reminded her with his vacant, uninterested tone.

It jolted her away from unconsciousness. Tears fell from her eyes. Why did he not allow her to pass out? It was all she wanted. All she had ever desired. All she would ever expect from life ever again. Nothing more.

She heard him wave a spell and her skin tingled with a new sheen of cold sweat of dread. She recognized that simple spell. She had never thought it could bring so much pain.

Flames poured from his fingertips into her insides. She had thought earlier that all strength and wind had deserted her because of the pain, but somehow her lungs filled with air and she let out a long, shrill scream.

"No!" she panted when the flames were extinguished. "Stop! Please stop! Why are you doing this?"

Before that instant, she had never spoken a single word to him during the tortures. The first day, when she had awoken groggy and nauseated in a cell to find him standing with his arms crossed before her, she had asked him who he was and why he held her prisoner. He had declared haughtily it was all irrelevant. From the fist time he had drawn a knife across her skin, she had never said another word to him.

"Why! Tell me why!" she screamed.

The silence dragged on, and he had stopped, most uncharacteristically, his tortures. She took it as a sign she should keep talking.

"What do you want from me? Tell me what you want! Tell me what you want me to do to stop torturing me!"

"Torture?" he repeated with a kind of cold puzzlement. "I seek to liberate you. If you only let go there will be no cause for pain."

He moved his fingers. She screamed again.

"Let go?" she cried. "Please, I don't understand! Please, I will do anything you want! Just explain it to me!"

"I cannot explain," he said. He merely elevated his voice to cover the sound of her screams, while his hands resumed their grim movement. "When you are ready, you will see what I mean, and only then will you free the potential within."

At the word "potential", its meaning filtered by unfathomable pain, a switch flipped in her mind. She understood what he meant. He spoke of the darkest recesses of her mind, where she now knew the essence of Bhaal lurked, with its dark promises of power and its superb indifference to the pain that seemed to blow her identity to pieces.

It seemed the pain, helplessness and despair her captor dosed so carefully were cleverly designed so she would hear the offers of Bhaal more clearly. They drew forth tantalizing images of her torturer's blood spraying in the air, its copper taste on her tongue, the joyful redness of it splashing the walls. A feeling of unstoppable power and remorseless ruthlessness blossomed inside her, even through the agony of pain.

She reeled in fright from such a dark power inside of herself. Her identity still asserted itself enough to keep the essence from taking over and try what it would to stop the madman torturing her. With her last resources, Ilire shut and sealed a mental iron-bounded door on the essence of the god of Murder.

And her mind, in a last reflex of self-preservation, shut her consciousness away from the pain which called the essence forward. She passed out.

The mad mage stopped immediately when her breathing became even and shallow instead of laboured and ragged. Noticing her unconsciousness, he frowned and tried a few divinations to determine what had happened. Noting that the first step of the process had been accomplished – she had proven resistant beyond reason to acknowledge the godly essence within her – he smiled. It was not a satisfied or smug smile. It was a cold smile that never reached his dead eyes. The kind of smile a snake might do.

ooooo

When she woke next, Ilire could barely move. She thought she should still have been unconscious, but a forceful heave forced her on her side. She retched. Blood, mixed with what seemed like bits of carbonized flesh, escaped her mouth. She coughed weakly to keep from choking on her own bloody vomit.

The effort of turning on her side and coughing hurt so much that she fell unconscious once more. When she emerged, an indescribable moment later, she pulled herself in a sitting position. She leaned back on the bars, letting her head rest back on their cruel hardness.

"Child? Are you alright?" she heard Jaheira from the next cage. Dynaheir used to be between them, but she had been gone for days.

Ilire's mind refused to process the fact that someone had addressed her, so Jaheira's worry remained unanswered.

Ilire thought of Ajantis. She was certain he was dead. If he was not, he would not have left her in this dungeon of madness to be tortured until she lost all sense of herself. She had trouble remembering her own name and that of her father, but she could easily recall Ajantis and his grave grey eyes.

She wondered what she had done to deserve being tortured to death by a madman in this damp dungeon.

She had always upheld the law. Fended for the weaker. Kept the villains in line. Fought for justice. She knew she was supposed to be a Bhaalspawn, but she always wondered where the essence of Murder was supposed to be within her. She was a fighter, and she fought, but to her the blade mastery was a form of art, and she used it to kill only when there was no other way, and when it would serve the greater good.

It seemed immensely unfair that she should suffer a Hell while still alive for sins she had never committed. She did not have the stuff of a martyr, and she did not accept her fate stoically.

She wondered why no one bothered to look for her. Dynaheir and Minsc were far enough from Rashemen, but it seemed the Harpers ought to have searched for Jaheira and Khalid. It seemed the Dukes of Baldur's Gate owed her and Imoen at least the courtesy of finding out why they suddenly disappeared right outside their gates.

No one shared her opinion, it seemed, since she was rotting there alone with her companions, with no one bothering to try and find out what was being done to them.

ooooo

The tortures resumed with cruel regularity. Ilire had never realized life could feel so long. The mad one never tired from his torture. Sometimes she had to hold the latch to the iron door within her mind, because the pain was so great that the temptation to let the essence loose to try what it would was almost too great to resist.

Sometimes her torturer spoke, now, telling her that if she just let go, there would be no cause for pain anymore. She resisted, although her will was eroded with each day of torture. She began wondering why she bothered resisting. He would never stop unless she let go.


	8. The Light at the End of the Tunnel

_Hi everyone!_

_I'm finally back from the Arctic, and with plenty of images in my head and ideas. Here is a new chapter for "The Irony of Fate" and, for those who're interested, there will be a new chapter of "Out of the Dark and the Mist" next week, and I'm nearing the end of a LotR fanfiction. Yes, I've given in, no matter what I always told myself. I've also come up with a few ideas for NWN2 and MotB, but they aren't written down yet, and work is (I should be used to it by now, but somehow I always keep foolishly hoping it will calm down at some point), as usual, hectic. Nevertheless, I will try very hard to keep my once-a-week rhythm, and will work on two stories max at any given time, which should keep updates on this story every two weeks._

_I've been craving for reviews for two months! Please give me a good fix :)_

Chapter VIII. The Light at the End of the Tunnel

When Imoen unlocked the door to her sister's cell, Ilire stepped out as though in a dream, half-convinced it was just an illusion woven in her mind by their captor to dull her resistances.

They made their way warily through the underground dwelling of their captor, and soon they crossed paths with a rogue, easily identifiable by his black leather armour and the throwing knives in his sash. Ilire led her party, as usual, and asked him who he was. Without answer, he lunged for her.

Time slowed in her mind. This in itself was not unusual; she could do it to some extent when she fought, when need was great enough. What was unusual was the sudden surge of lust that flamed hotly throughout her body when she sidestepped his first blow and her katana flew at his neck. Her eyes opened wide in expectation. Her lips parted so she could pant in the sweet air, filled with the scent of sweat, leather, and steel; the smell of battle. She held the hit of her katana in an iron grip, she aimed true, and the blade connected with the thief's neck.

His head went flying. Blood poured out of his neck in a red geyser that showered Ilire. It landed in her hair, on her clothes, in her open mouth. She tasted and smelled it with delight. It glistened beautifully on the length of her curved blade, dripping slowly, almost poetically, down the edge. It seemed her blade, which she had always considered to be an object of beauty in itself when she moved it in the practiced moves of the kata, had on the contrary always been meant to be dripping in blood in such a way.

Pain exploded in her chest. It brought her to her knees and she realized what she had done. What she had felt and thought. Leaning heavily on her blades, tipped in the ground, she retched over the legs of the body she had just killed.

The pain had snapped her out of the lust to kill, and reminded her forcefully that she should not give in to it. It had been what the mad one wanted. She had resisted him all that time. She would not grant him victory now that she was finally, finally free.

She pushed her locks out of her face and batted Jaheira's hands away – the druid had been holding her hair. Ilire stood and with steely determination barked, "Resume formation!". Even stalwart Jaheira flinched and hastily moved back in line.

They would get out of that stinking dungeon. And soon.

ooooo

Sir Cadril shifted wearily his weight from foot to foot, thinking to himself that he should have been more careful regarding his words about Sir Karath's daughter around Sir Vandren, one of his close friends. Regardless, Sir Cadril figured he deserved to be punished with guard duty for his inconsiderate words about a young Lady. He would remember this lesson, that was for sure. Guard duty rated higher on the boredom scale than even assisting the teachers of the youngest apprentices in their first class of weapon mastery.

At least, Lady Irlana was not bad company. Even if supposed to be stoic and dull guards, they were allowed to speak to pass the time. Unfortunately, they had both run out of topics of conversation some two hours ago.

Sir Cadril looked up with boredom when another group of petitioners to the Order approached. He wished they were instead some strangers to the city who were lost and looking for their god's temple; at least if they asked for directions he would have a chance to inquire where they hailed from and hopefully pick up an interesting conversation, even if only for a few minutes.

When they came nearer, however, they proved entirely different than he had expected. The four men and women were adventurers, and rather badly battered at that. The leader, especially, was a grim icon of savagery.

She wore a dirty tunic which had probably been yellow in the distant past, but had been smeared over with soot and grime but, most obviously, blood. Puddles of it marked her arms and abdomen where slits and tears in her clothes indicated she had received hits of blades. Streaks in the shape of fingers marred the edge of her tunic, from the fingers of assailants who had clutched at her as they fell. Fine droplets had sprayed her clothes, face and hair. She walked with a decided step, people parting hastily in front of her with small horrified squeals. Coagulated blood stained both her unsheathed blades. She carried them at the ready, a menacing and rude habit in the middle of a civilized district of a well-kept city such as Athkatla.

The adventurers walked directly towards the Headquarters' doors, and stopped right in front of Cadril and Irlana. The leader's eyes swept from him to Irlana, then back, and she addressed him.

"Are these the headquarters of the Order of the Radiant Heart?"

A fleeting fear twisted in the pit of his stomach; she made it seem as though she would cut him down if he answered positively. Lady Irlana, too, held her shield at the ready, and her hand rested on the hilt of her sword.

"It is, my lady," Sir Cadril answered cautiously.

"I am looking for one named Ajantis Ilvastarr," she stated.

Sir Cadril frowned. "There is no knight by that name in this chapter. The name is vaguely familiar, maybe he passed by recently?"

Her katanas lowered a bit. "Then might I speak with Sir Keldorn Firecam?" she asked.

Sir Cadril stole a quick glance at her companions. An equally grim half-elven female accompanied the leader in yellow tunic; she bore the symbol of Silvanus on a pin at the collar of her armour. A huge man stood behind them with a magical, gleaming and threatening two-handed sword slung carelessly across his massive shoulders. A sneaky-looking Kara-Turan in studded leather, with a katana belted at his hip and a short bow on his shoulder, leaned casually on the stone parapet behind them. None of them were likely to be acquaintances of the well-known and respectable paladin.

"Who asks for him?" Cadril asked in a bland tone.

The force of her glower almost made him take a step back. "I am not sure my name would mean anything to you," she spat. "I am Ilire Ilvastarr."

Raking his brains, he tried to place the name, but it was totally unfamiliar to him, except the family name which she had just used to name Ajantis. He stole a glance at Lady Irlana. She shook her head; she did not know that name either.

"Please forgive me, my lady, but this name is not…"

"Ilire of Candlekeep," she provided.

Cadril paused, thinking this name sounded vaguely familiar, but a glance with Irlana confirmed that she did not know this name either.

"Ilire of Candlekeep, the ward of the sage Gorion."

Receiving again a blank stare, she shifted her grip of her blades to point them backward, and bowed ironically.

"Ilire of Candlekeep. You know, that nameless adventurer who just so happens to have stopped one Sarevok Anchev's machinations to start a war between Baldur's Gate and Amn?"

Sir Cadril stared at her anew. It seemed unlikely that she could be the grand and noble adventuring lady whom they had heard of here; people said she helped nations and peasants alike, that she considered no request too low for her. They said she was beautiful and fair. The description seemed hard to fit with the young woman standing in front of him now, looking as though she just emerged from a blood bath.

"Please forgive us, Lady Ilire," Lady Irlana said. "It was hard to recognize you for who you were in that garb. Unfortunately, Sir Keldorn is on duty at the moment, and not within the Headquarters."

"Then where can I find him?"

"We do not know, Lady Ilire. He is on a secret assignment of some sort. If you wish to learn more, you should seek an audience with the Prelate."

"Thank you."

Without waiting for Sir Cadril to open the door for her, she pushed it open with her shoulder and went in the Order.


	9. Hope Shattered

Chapter IX. Hope shattered

Prelate Wessalen lifted his head from the report about the cleaning staff's monthly wages when he heard loud voices arguing just outside his office. Hearing the tone rising and the imminence of open conflict, he hastily crossed the room and opened his door. Whoever dared come to blows within the walls of the Radiant Heart would likely calm down when faced with the Prelate himself.

When his eyes took in the scene – a blood-covered young lady with two ready katanas in her hands and her three companions, all holding weapons at the ready, faced Sirs Zarath, Ryan, Donalus and Mardus – he realized he had not counted on weird strangers being the cause of the noise.

The young lady, obviously the group's leader, turned to him and smiled. It seemed out of place in her grim countenance.

"Ah, Prelate Wessalen. So good to make your acquaintance."

"What is the meaning of this?" he could only answer, staring from her to her companions to the knights who had been trying to keep her away from his office, apparently.

"Frankly, Prelate," the young lady said jovially, "I consider the delay to get an appointment with you to be unacceptable. These kind sirs here were trying to convince me otherwise when you had the kindness to open your door yourself."

Prelate Wessalen looked from one paladin to the other in stunned puzzlement.

"But what can a petitioner want with the Prelate? There are a number of knights who answers pleas from the faithful…"

"I am afraid it is your direct intervention that I need, Prelate. I am Ilire Ilvastarr, and I am looking for information on the whereabouts of Ajantis Ilvastarr, my husband. I thought my best chances were to speak with Sir Keldorn Firecam, since he was in charge of the investigation regarding Ajantis's disappearance, but I was told that Sir Keldorn is not here at the moment. I want to know what has happened to my husband. Will you ask me, then, as your subordinates have done, to get out of your sight and come back in eight days when I can have a regular appointment, Prelate?"

She made it quite clear what she would think of him should he throw her out without a word about her husband.

Wessalen stepped aside from his door and gestured for her to go in. She waved off her companions and came in his office alone.

"Sir Ryan," the Prelate ordered calmly, attempting to return the Headquarters to their usual quiet, "please see to these people's needs. Obviously they have been through a lot."

He closed his door and, at his invitation, the blood-soaked Lady Ilire Ilvastarr collapsed in a chair.

"Please, my lady, tell me where you come from in such a state. We thought you dead for over a month!"

She eyed him with cold contempt.

"Held prisoner and tortured," she provided succinctly. "Escaped – fought our way out of Hell, more or less. Satisfied?"

Prelate Wessalen cleared his throat. "Not really, my lady. Who held you captive? Where were you being kept? Where and how were you captured? You have to believe me when I say that we moved earth and sky to try and find any trace of you, but could not."

"Thank you very much for your efforts," she replied stiffly. "I don't know why we were captured, or by whom. We were held by a man named Jon Irenicus, but that is about all the information I have about him. He never spoke much. Half his lair was connected to Waukeen's Promenade – which, by the way, about half is missing by now – but the other half could be far removed, and was only linked through magic portals with the other. Now, maybe it is about time you realize that you have not yet spoken a single word of my husband or Sir Keldorn. Perhaps you should know that I have been having an incredibly bad week, or maybe month, I could not tell. I think you would do well to answer my questions now, as I am about to lose my temper."

"Of course." A dragging silence fell between them, but Ilire waited through it patiently despite her obvious bad mood. "Your husband, Squire Ajantis Ilvastarr, was declared missing in the line of duty two tendays ago, after a month without word of him or the men of his squadron, and a tenday of investigation. I am sorry."

Ilire's face became strangely blank and stayed that way for two long seconds, after which she brusquely stood up. Her two katanas clattered to the floor and her chair fell backwards. All colour drained from her face, contrasting starkly with the dark circles under her blue eyes and the black droplets of dried blood on her face.

Wessalen slowly followed to his feet, not wanting to startle her.

"Everything else, but not this," she whispered.

Her voice was filled with such dread that a shiver ran up the old paladin's spine.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I could take anything else, but not this. I _took_ everything else. Not this."

Her eyes turned back in her skull and she fainted. Wessalen had only to take a step to catch her in his arms before she fell to the floor. Torm granted his hasty and urgent prayer and the paladin's hands filled with healing energies. Ilire let out a sleepy groan, but opened her eyes. She sat up, despite Wessalen who tried keeping her laying down a moment, so she could regain her composure.

But then she turned away and started crying, covering her face in her hands. Wessalen took her in his arms, the way he would have taken his infant daughter when she woke from a nightmare.

The strong warrior, the Hero of Baldur's Gate, cried in raking sobs in his arms. Her tears flowed, and her body shook with such power that he thought she would tear herself apart.

"Every horror and indignity I suffered in that filthy dungeon… I survived through it all because I would get back to him. Why did I endure all this for? Now what do I get back to?"

Wessalen tightened his arms around her. Though she had said nothing of the atrocities she had endured, the raw horror in her voice alone sufficed to make cold sweat run down his skin. His mouth was dry.

"I'm sorry," was all the inappropriate answer he could come up with.

He would have expected her to snort, but she started crying again, not moving away from the comfort of his arms.

ooooo

Keldorn did hear the large commotion in the gallery of sewers above him, but could not investigate what had caused it, as he was himself rather busy battling a score of zombies. While no such monster could match in battle an experienced paladin such as him, en masse as they were in those stinking tunnels, they were a force to be reckoned with.

The commotion went on for some time; he recognized mages and priests exchanging spells as well as warriors exchanging insults and blows. A dwarf's raucous and strong voice carried far in those cramped tunnels, and Keldorn managed to hear some of his words; he insulted his attackers who refused a real fight and kept him stuck in a web.

Eventually the sounds of battle died down, however, and Keldorn approached the end of his own battle. Only three zombies still survived his Holy Avenger. Suddenly the paladin heard the whistling of arrows and he sidestepped hastily.

The arrow had not been aimed for him, though, because it sunk faultlessly in the middle of the closest zombie's chest, staggering it a few paces back. More arrows, bolts and sling bullets whizzed past him, unnervingly close, but all found their marks. He had stopped watching where the projectiles came from by then, grateful for the assistance even if he would have survived this fight alone.

Suddenly someone burst at his side, slashing to the left and right, and the last two zombies fell dead. Keldorn looked up to see a blood-soaked young woman bring back her katanas in defensive position, surveying the corridors up and down from there to make sure their position was safe.

She was so young, and so much pain shadowed her eyes and face, that he immediately switched into "fatherly mode".

"Halt and go no further, laymen!" he exclaimed, stepping in front of her on the path to the lower parts of the sewers, from where the zombies constantly emerged. "There be a grave evil here, the source of which I have yet to find. Please, forgive the harshness of my tone, but state your business in this place."

She looked at him straight in the eye with the unassuming confidence of an experienced leader and adventurer.

"If there be an evil here, I assure you that we are well equipped for it. So are you, I see." A ghost of a smile crossed her face. "Forgive us for spoiling your fun with those zombies. Might I know your name?"

"I am Keldorn, servant of the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart."

"Introductions seem to be in order, then. I am Ilire Ilvastarr."

Keldorn forcefully closed his mouth.

"Ilire Ilv… But, by Torm!" He floundered for a moment. "Ilire Ilvastarr! But what are you doing in Athkatla! How did you get past the Flaming Fist and Sir William in Baldur's Gate?"

Her expression turned sour. "I'm sorry, Sir Keldorn, but I have no idea what you are talking about. If you were trying to keep me north of Baldur's Gate, your men have done poor work. I did not even try to avoid the main roads and inns."

"No! Not at all! When you disappeared, I spent a whole tenday in Baldur's Gate searching for you, and I left Sir William behind in case he could surprise any rumour about you! How did you suddenly reappear in the world without his notice?"

She looked up and down the corridor again. "This does not seem like a very safe place where to have a lengthy discussion. Prelate Wessalen promised you would agree to give me a detailed report on your investigation regarding Ajantis. Would you tolerate letting evil be for the time of a night, so I could learn what has happened of my husband?"

His shock faded into painful memory at her words. "Of course. Let us be away from this stinking place."

He followed her and her companions out of the sewers. On the way out, Keldorn noticed that the thugs who camped constantly in the sewers, and whom he suspected of guarding some illegal business or another, were now dead by the hands of the adventurers of Ilire's group. Keldorn had avoided the dwarf's party because they outnumbered him and were obviously capable, but he felt no guilt or shock to see Ilire's companions searching the bodies. Ilire employed the services of a thief, and the Kara-Turan informed his leader of the presence of two secret passages in the vicinity. Keldorn smiled to himself; he had been right about the bandits guarding something. Ilire answered distractedly to the thief that she might investigate the secret doors, but some other time.

They exited the sewers and everyone took a good long breath of the cleansing air. They set to walk at a brisk pace towards the district's exit.

"I'm told the biggest inn in the city is the Copper Coronet of the Slums," Ilire began once they were out of the Temple district. "I'm afraid we can't afford much more at the moment. Does it offend Lord Firecam to be seen in such lowly company?" There was an edge to her voice. Keldorn was starting to find her impolite.

"I have slept in rancid dungeons before," he replied icily. "I have seen worse accommodations than the Coronet."

She failed to answer, but shot him a smile out of the corner of her lips. The group crossed the city at a fast pace, keeping to the main streets because dusk was falling. When they neared the Slums proper, a man suddenly slithered out of the shadows and addressed Ilire by name.


	10. Acceptance

_Sorry about this being late, I forgot about it last week-end, and I've been busy… but here it is, and it shouldn't delay _Out of the Dark and the Mist_. Please read and review!_

Chapter X. Acceptance

When at last they passed the doors of the Copper Coronet, after a forceful meeting with one Gaelan Bayle, Keldorn shared Ilire's frustration and impatience. How would a man _dare_ to make a lady in need pay such an outrageous sum as twenty thousand gold pieces for information that could, or not, help her find her own kinswoman? And this was not even mentioning that the man making the demands was speaking on the behalf of a shadowy but undoubtedly disputable organization on which identity Keldorn had his ideas.

The way Ilire had taken the man's speech in stride told Keldorn this was not the worst she had seen recently.

Some very dark thoughts brooded in his head when suddenly he was startled out of his musings. Another man addressed Ilire as they crossed the crowded common room of the Coronet, in search of a table where to sit down.

"What brings you, fair lady, to this cesspool of corruption?"

Keldorn winced in spite of himself. Ilire was obviously in no mood for such flowery speech. However, although she did snort and muttered "Fair lady? Hardly," under her breath, she turned to look at the young man calmly enough. Examining him, Keldorn quickly recognized the symbol of the Order emblazoned on the shoulder of his armour. After a moment of confusion as to the reason of the presence of a squire of the Order in a seedy tavern like the Coronet, Keldorn suddenly remembered that Anomen Delryn was supposed to be here, trying to find someone to go Wandering with.

The young man, whether he was Anomen Delryn or not, was a handsome one. He had thick and wavy brown hair carefully trimmed – surely the man had not put on his helmet of the whole day – and an equally well-cared-for beard. His square jaw was harmoniously counter-balanced by his full mouth and small straight nose.

Ilire looked at him for a second. "This cesspool of corruption is all I can afford for now," she answered levelly, "and my companions and I definitely need a rest. So here we are. What about you?"

"I am Anomen Delryn, a squire who looks to be knighted into the Order of the Radiant Heart. I am in search of worthy companions."

"Ah. So you're looking for adventure?"

"There is more to it, my lady!" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "I seek to prove my worth to the Order by grand deeds in battle, done in the name of Light, and for the glory of Torm, our patron deity."

She stared blankly at him and Keldorn readied himself to restrain her should she do something… harsh. He was not sure at all what effect this over-zealous squire was having on her.

"Just how old are you, by the way?", she asked matter-of-factly.

Her interlocutor frowned and took a step back in confusion. "I… I am twenty-five, my lady. Why would you ask that?"

She shrugged. "No matter. I could use another companion in my party, if you'd like to join us, but before you accept, I should tell you that my ultimate goal is to rescue someone wrongly taken captive by the Cowled Wizards. I suspect it's going to be risky business."

The squire beamed happily at the news. "And who is this person you would rescue?"

"A childhood friend. Her name is Imoen. In truth, I consider her more of a sister."

"The rescue of a childhood friend? Ah! What a worthy cause to pursue!"

When Anomen went to sit with Minsc and Jaheira to discuss party formation and strategies, Ilire watched him go.

"Strange young man," she muttered to Keldorn. "I can't believe he's twenty-five. He's way too green to be that old."

The old paladin felt a sudden ache in his heart; everyone _should_­ be that green at twenty-five. The harsher and bloodier lessons of the life of adventurer should come later. Obviously that had not been spared Ilire. The young woman and paladin sat alone at a table in a corner, and the waitress came to take their orders. Ilire took only a glass of water, but Keldorn did order some food.

"Keldorn, please tell me about Ajantis," she simply pleaded then.

He took a breath and set his shoulders. He told her, everything from the date Ajantis had arrived in Athkatla from Waterdeep to the day the Order had been forced to declare that nothing else could be done and that he was missing for good. Her eyes filled with tears on more than one occasion, but other than that she displayed no emotion.

"Keldorn, I need to know," she said at the end of his tale. "If there is anything, _anything_ that can be done, that can be tried, I will do it. But if there isn't, then I will have to give him up and search for Imoen instead."

Keldorn took her hand. "I'm sorry, Ilire. I, and every other knight of the Order present, did everything we could to find him. There isn't anything left to do."

She closed her eyes and a few tears fell from them, but she nodded with determination. "Then we will concentrate all our efforts on Imoen, hoping that at least _she_ can be saved." She freed her hand and stood up. "If you'll excuse me, I'll rent us rooms and take a good bath now."

"Of course."

She had just left when suddenly the stern half-elf was standing by Keldorn's table, looking at him pointedly.

"Forgive me, my lady, but I believe the introductions were not made properly. I think I missed your name."

"I am a druid, and my name is Jaheira," she provided flatly. "Is it as bad as it looked?" She nodded her head stiffly in Ilire's direction.

"I am afraid so, my lady," Keldorn sighed with sorrow.

Jaheira looked away. "Dear Silvanus," she whispered. She seemed lost in thought, and then she turned back to Keldorn. "Sometimes I find it hard to understand why the gods would choose this child and take away from her everyone she ever loved. Her foster father, her husband, and now her sister."

The druid pulled the chair, and then remembered her manners. "Do you mind if I sit with you for a while?"

"Of course not, my lady. Take a seat."

She sat wearily. "What do you plan on doing, Sir Keldorn?"

"A simple Keldorn will be fine, Jaheira. But why do you ask about my intentions?"

She looked at him as though he was daft. "Do you plan on going back to investigate your vicious cult alone, or do you wish our company on your quest?"

"I would think it an obvious point of honour and duty to accompany Ilire on her search for her sister, since it is the Order's failure to locate Ilire's party while you were prisoners of Irenicus that led to Imoen being abducted by the Cowled Wizards."

The druid nodded approvingly at him. "Forgive my harsh questioning, but our recent experiences have rendered me suspicious. I think you should know a few circumstances regarding our captivity."

"I agree. We found traces of a fight near Baldur's Gate, in a clearing just east of the gates, but not another sign of you. It seemed most peculiar that you disappeared so abruptly."

"That clearing just outside Baldur's Gate, you are talking of the glade with a big oak tree with three rocks at its base?"

"That very one. Was this really where you were captured?"

She nodded, her expression darkening at the memories. "At first we were set upon by bandits who told us we were the biggest bounty they had ever seen. We battled them and many died, but then three other people joined the fight. There was a man and two women. I can tell you that they were not in harmony with nature."

Keldorn frowned. "Not in harmony? In what way?"

"I felt a definitive touch of negative energy in them."

"Undead?"

"Yes, but not your common brand zombie, stinking and easily dispatched. These were sophisticated creatures. I think those three were vampires and not mere fledglings either."

The old paladin considered in silence for a while. "Why would vampires attack you and then deliver you to someone else?"

"I do not know. This 'someone else' bears the name of Jon Irenicus. He tortured us. In his own words, he 'experimented' on us. The nature or goal of these tests, I could not begin to guess at. He took the life of my husband to show death to Imoen, and he did the same to Dynaheir, another of our long-time companions, for Ilire's benefit." The druid's gaze turned as hard as steel. "But these deaths are the most merciful act Irenicus did to us of all the time we spent in his 'care'. Whatever this blasted excuse for a mage did to us, it triggered a change in Ilire. I can feel her life essence slowly losing harmony with nature."

"Are you referring to her parentage?" Keldorn asked.

"I am," she replied coldly. "I was not sure the Order would have wished you to be aware of that."

"The Order considers her a victim of her heritage, if that is the aim of your intensive questioning," the paladin retorted defensively.

"I am glad to hear that," Jaheira answered with a dry smile. "But I wanted to point out that Ilire's balance is unstable at the moment, as a consequence of Irenicus' 'experiments'."

"Ah. So you wish to warn me of a possibly difficult paladin duty, should she lose harmony with herself."

The druid rose from her seat. "No, Sir Keldorn. I am warning you that, should Ilire do anything you might disagree with, it will not be her fault. It will be Irenicus' fault, and I will lay blame at your feet for letting us rot in that hellish dungeon for long enough for Irenicus to do to her what he did to her. I bear the responsibility of my helplessness. So should you."

She turned away stiffly and disappeared upstairs, leaving a grieving Keldorn behind.

ooooo

Because of Jaheira's warning, Keldorn was especially wary and observant of Ilire's behaviour in the next few days. To his relief, he saw nothing that hinted at a dark influence from her parentage. The consequences of her ordeal with Irenicus were plain to see, and worried Keldorn for her in a fatherly manner, but there was nothing darker than that.

Among the visible effects of her trauma, there was the fact that Ilire ate preciously little, and the smell and sight of meat appeared to sicken her. From the dark circles under her eyes, Keldorn guessed she slept little and badly. She had taken to wearing a sleeveless tunic to fit the warming Amnian spring, and he could see marks on her arms that were not fully cicatrized yet. She occasionally turned her back on the carnage once they were done with a battle.

Other than that, she was what anyone would expect of a seasoned adventurer. She did not shy before battle or blood, fought with exceptional competence, stood up for just causes, pitied defenceless opponents but was ready to kill if necessary, did not give any attention to pain, and led her party decisively.

It took them only five days to overthrow the cult of the eyeless that Keldorn had spent two tendays investigating. They infiltrated the ranks of the faithful, gained enough of the recruiter's trust to be given an important task, reassembled the ancient artefact of mighty power that the beholder wanted for itself, and used it against it instead. And so, five days later, the evil cult that had prayed upon the faithful of the Temple district was destroyed.


	11. Heavy Burden

Chapter XI. Heavy burden

On their second night in the sewers, Anomen sat looking into the flames of their cooking fire, thinking back rather dazed on their recent accomplishments. He could hardly believe all the terrifyingly powerful creatures they had dealt with in so short a time. This life of adventure was incredibly more fast-paced than the campaigns he had the habit of with the Order. He realized now the need for such Wanderings before a squire was knighted.

Sir Keldorn, from the height of his superior worldly experience, took it all in stride as though it was natural, but Anomen thought secretly and haughtily that at his age, he must find the days long. From the casual calm of Ilire, Jaheira, Minsc and Yoshimo, Anomen understood that these four too had the habit of facing so many enemies on such time scales.

It was stimulating and terrifying at the same time. He was learning much, and quickly. Ilire had offered him a place on the front line, which he had accepted, and he stood to her left, with Keldorn to her right. Minsc held the rear-guard and served as their archer. Anomen learned to man the front line of such a small party efficiently. He learned to concentrate his efforts with those of his companions on a single enemy. He learned to fall back before too many monsters to lead them into a thief's traps. He learned to spare his strength so he would not tire out before the end of a long day of battles. He learned to use his spells in the heat of battle and to coordinate a change of positions with Jaheira so each could cover and protect the other while the other was busy casting.

He spent the first two days adapting to this new rhythm of battles, but after that he had the luxury of time to acknowledge his intriguing new leader. Even though they rested at the bottom of the sewers of Athkatla in a city hidden underground, filled with utterly depressed people, Anomen had wished to share a cup of tea with Ilire that night. However, she had gone away earlier to wash and change, he gathered, but when she delayed in her return, he began wondering what was taking her so long.

Finally, he turned to the druid, who made it very clear by her attitude that she was the second in command, "Lady Jaheira?"

"Yes, Anomen?" The woman also made it plain that she did not hold much sympathy for him. Whenever she said something to him, he was never quite sure if she complimented him or meant to scorn him with lashing sarcasm.

"Do you know what might delay Ilire? She has been gone for much longer than she said. I would go in search of her, but I fear to embarrass her by coming upon her as she bathes."

He had thought the matter trivial, but the look of concern that transformed the harsh half-elf's face told him it was anything but that.

"How long has she been gone?", the druid asked.

"I am not too sure, my lady. Maybe forty minutes?"

Jaheira snatched her staff in one hand and his arm in the other and dragged him forcibly along in the general direction Ilire had left.

"Anomen, you are a cleric and therefore share the position of healer of this group with me," she stated.

When it became obvious she was expecting an answer, he replied, "It… it is an honour to me, my lady."

"Therefore there is some information that I must share with you regarding Ilire's… condition."

"Ilire's 'condition'?" Anomen echoed. "What condition?" he asked worriedly.

"Perhaps you are aware that we recently escaped from captivity?"

"No one stopped to tell me the story," the young priest accused somewhat ungracefully, "but I had gathered as much from your conversations."

"Well, we were tortured. I am afraid Ilire refused to tell me the full extent of the damage she suffered at our captor's hands."

Anomen thought about this in silence for a moment. "That would be a serious cause for concern," he conceded. "I have not noticed any sign of weakness or illness in Ilire, although I have not been looking specifically for such symptoms. Do you suspect anything in particular? Do you know why she would hide her injuries from healers?"

Jaheira looked at him out of the corner of her eye with a 'do-I-really-need-to-tell-you' look, before she spat, "Because Irenicus obviously tried to deprive her of any dignity, and she does not wish to tell me or anyone what exactly he did to accomplish that. To be frank with you, Anomen, I am not sure I wish to know. You were never in the dungeon, so you would not know, but after I saw what he… what he did to the helpless corpse of my husband… I fear what he might have tried with Ilire's living body."

A shocked silence on Anomen's part answered Jaheira's words. He had not foreseen that this group's past was tainted with such felony.

"My most sincere condolences. Was this Irenicus punished?" he asked.

The druid snorted and gave him another of her withering looks. "Unfortunately not. He left with the Cowled Wizards for 'unsanctioned use of magical energies', along with Imoen."

Anomen cleared his throat. "Then I would suppose he is being punished by the Cowled Wizards as we speak, my lady. Perhaps you are not quite aware of it, but the mages are very…"

She cut him off with an exasperated sigh. "He was not _taken_ by the Cowled Wizards. He so clearly overpowered them that he set conditions to his surrender and willingly went with the Cowled Enforcers."

The cleric let out a shocked gasp. "The traitor! What conditions?"

"That the Cowled Wizards take Imoen also. So you see, I have doubts that they are really punishing him right now. I would rather think they try to keep their ground in negotiations, at the very best."

After a hesitant silence, the young squire went on, "Does this not bode unwell for Lady Imoen?"

"It does," the druid replied darkly.

They stopped, because they had reached a branch on the path of floating walkways of the underground town. They looked around, but even Jaheira's keen eyes could not make out Ilire in the cave's darkness.

"I will look this way," Anomen proposed, pointing off to the right, towards the less circulated part of the city. Jaheira nodded distractedly and headed left. Anomen had walked only a short while when suddenly he heard the sound of someone retching. Guessing rightly that it was Ilire, he rushed to a small alcove in the rock wall, plunged in darkness in the cave's gloom. The ceiling hung so low that he could not walk underneath with his back upright. He stopped by the entrance.

"Ilire, my lady? Is this you?"

Another fit of heaving answered him. He noticed the unmistakable smell of blood mixed with the acrid smell of vomit. He also recognized with horror the smell of burned flesh. Throwing caution to the winds, thinking she might have been under attack and left for dead in that black hole, he bent his head and stepped forward into the dark. He blinked a few times, but his eyes adjusted to the dimness quickly, letting him guess Ilire's prostrate form out of the shadows, holding her hair while she retched.

Understanding dawned on Anomen, accompanied with a chilling dread that set cold sweat running on his skin. The smell of blood and burned flesh did not emanate from any outside wounds inflicted by some ambush while she was isolated from her party; the smell came from what she vomited, what was left of some inner injury she endured he could not guess how. He stood there, frozen, until at last she sat back on her heels and leaned against the wall in obvious exhaustion.

He realized she had not heard or seen him reaching her refugee, because she startled at the creaking of leather when he crouched besides her.

"Easy, Ilire. It's only me," he whispered. He found himself strangely cautious, fearing to even reach out a hand to her shoulder to reassure and steady her. When he slowly reached out with a hand, she shied away from him. He briefly considered going in search of Jaheira, but he would not leave her there alone in a dubious state of health. Gathering his resolve, he extended a hand and put it on her shoulder.

"My lady, are you ill?" He felt foolish for asking, but he could think of no better way to assess her state.

She grunted and tried to move away from him, but the hole in the rock was not _that_ big.

"Please, my lady, I am merely trying to help you. Is there any injury that I could heal for you?"

She croaked a laugh. "I don't know. Can you heal what doesn't leave marks?"

She was so weak that she could not really resist when he pulled her gently towards him and put his arm around her shoulders. "I would hope you would let me become your friend, and friends can usually help with those injuries. Now, please, my lady, come out in the light so I can see what is ailing you."

He pulled her out and sat her down with her back against the wall. He looked around, but there was still no trace of Jaheira. He knelt besides Ilire.

"My lady, I think I must ask uncomfortable questions of you if I am to help you at all."

She opened one teary eye to look at him, but soon closed it and turned her head away.

"How were you injured in such a grievous manner? How could I cast healing spells on you in the past two days and not repair this as well?"

She shrugged. Sighing, Anomen turned her face to him, held her chin gently but firmly with one hand and lifted her eyelids to look at the abnormal paleness of their insides. He then took her hand and pressed on her nails briefly, to see the colour returning there much too slowly. He touched her wrist and felt for her pulse. It was weak, irregular, and slow.

"My lady, I see all signs I can detect of severe blood loss, but there are no visible injuries on you. I must conclude that you bleed internally. Did you receive today a blow that could have caused such injury? Or do you hide this fact from me and Jaheira for two days?"

She had turned her head away as soon as he had released her face, and he saw tears streaming down her cheeks. Faced with her continued silence, he let out a long sigh of frustration.

"My lady, I know this injury must hurt. If only to eliminate the pain, will you not tell me what I need to know to remove it?"

"You're a near stranger, Anomen. I couldn't tell Jaheira what Irenicus did to me. Do you think I could tell you?"

"I am a healer, my lady, and held to the secret regarding whatever treatment I may dispense," he said. "If it pleases you better, you can pretend you do not know me at all, and I will never again hint that I know anything regarding this."

She turned and stared at him fiercely. "Swear it on your honour."

He returned her look with equal intensity. "I swear on my honour as a squire of the Order of the Radiant Heart."

"No. Swear on your honour as a priest of Helm."

He bristled indignantly. "Do you think a cleric of the Watcher holds honour in greater virtue than a squire of the Order?"

"No, I merely think that you view yourself primarily as a disciple of Helm. Now, swear, or go away and let Jae find me."

He went to a knee, bent his head and swore ceremoniously, "I swear, on my honour as a servant of Helm, to never again let transpire anything of my knowledge of your injuries, my lady. I will carry it as a secret to my grave."

She nodded. "Thank you." She took a breath. "This has been ailing me for weeks. Irenicus healed… You do know who Irenicus is?"

"Jaheira told me a little of him, yes."

"Well, he would torture me, and then heal me so he could torture me again. He healed most of what he did, but he always carefully left me with some of my injuries so I couldn't really get any sleep." She took a breath, and began her tale. "He liked… what he liked best was to…"

ooooo

She had not realized how heavy the secret was. She had not suspected how liberating it would be to retell everything that had been done to her to someone who cared and was horrified by what had been done to her. It was good to have someone tell her that such acts were of an unspeakable evil, and that surviving it was a striking display of strength. It felt incredibly soothing to have someone tell her that she was of impressive determination to go on despite the injuries and trauma, and that what Irenicus did was disgusting.

As arrogant as Anomen could be, when he slipped in his role of healer he was as considerate, gentle and reassuring as you could hope for. He made it clear that Irenicus was disgusting and filthy. Not her. Only what was done to her.

He told her he could not heal everything in a single night, and that he would require assistance from a more experienced cleric. He promised her he would speak with High Watcher Oisig and ensure he would have assistance without revealing anything of what had been done to her. However, he could still help her right away. After a greater restoration and spells of healing, curing poison and disease, she did feel better.

Despite Anomen's assurances that he could not heal everything in a single night, when he finished his spells, she almost felt as though she was alright, just because she had told him everything.

And when he took her in his arms so she could cry, it felt like he had gathered all her broken pieces and was pulling her back together.

ooooo

Jaheira was deeply worried when she finished exploring her part of the walkways and found no trace of Ilire. She backtracked to where Anomen had gone. When she found him shortly after, she was greeted by a peculiar sight.

At first she rushed, thinking he restrained Ilire who had a seizure, but when Jaheira caught the look of pure wrath etched on his features, she stumbled to a halt. He was not restraining her at all. He was holding her in his arms as she cried, and by the look on his face she had told him at least part of the reason why she was crying.

Ilire was too lost in her grief to notice anything of the outside world, but Anomen did lift his head when he heard Jaheira's footsteps. The look of distilled righteous anger on his face did not change, but he slowly shook his head to gesture her that he did not need her assistance.

Jaheira, greatly surprised, retreated, but promised herself that she would get answers out of him later.

ooooo

Anomen's mind was reeling from everything Ilire had told him. Considering the sheer amount of horror that seemed to have been deposited on his heart, it seemed it had taken all too short a time to tell. He wondered how she managed to set a course to follow and to fight on every day, after what had been done to her.

He had seen many seasoned paladins come back from the one battle too many, their minds and will destroyed, and seen them spend the rest of their lives in the temples, tended to by clerics at all times, to ensure they ate and washed and walked once around the courtyard everyday.

What had been done to Ilire was considerably worse than seeing the ugliest face of war. She had been subjected to an organized attempt to break her body and mind. Anomen could not imagine what goal but the purest cruelty one could have to inflict such grievous treatment to a person.

When he saw Lady Jaheira come their way, he gestured her away; Ilire was crying all she was worth and she needed it. Since it seemed she could not do so in Jaheira's presence, then it seemed better to keep the druid away for the moment.

At last, Ilire's tears stopped flowing. She sagged in Anomen's arms, obviously falling asleep. He held her for a moment, not daring to move, but after some time he was forced to acknowledge that he would have to either spend the entire night like that or lay her down. The move woke her, and she sat up to rub her eyes. Anomen waited patiently until she looked at him.

"Thank you," she said simply. "I feel much better now."

Anomen smiled. "I am glad I could help you, my lady, but rest assured that any injury that might still resist the restoration will be taken care of as soon as we return to the surface."

She nodded, then sighed and got to her feet. Anomen helped her up, holding her forearm, and they went back to the party's camp together.

ooooo

It was three days before Jaheira could talk to Anomen alone. She pulled him aside while Ilire and Yoshimo were busy negotiating price with Ribald regarding the spoils retrieved from the lair of the Cult of the Eyeless.

"What did you do to her? And what did she tell you?" the druid demanded with her usual aggressiveness.

Anomen, no matter how arrogant he could be, had been born and bred to discipline and usually bent meekly to orders. He often discussed and tried to show off while it was time to plan an attack or a course of action, but he never argued when it came to action, knowing that lives depended on the swiftness of intervention. Jaheira was therefore surprised to see the bland look of denial on his features after she delivered a direct request with forceful authority.

"I did my best to heal her injuries, my lady," he answered evenly, "and what she told me will stay between us."

She narrowed her eyes. "I was her healer before you were even squired, cleric!" she huffed. "Don't you think I should know what's wrong with her?"

His quiet confidence irritated her, to say the least. "Knowing what I know now," he replied, "I would not have regretted not being into the confidence had she chosen to tell you, Lady Jaheira. I cannot say it proved a pleasant experience to hear what was done to her. It is still a small price to pay to help in her healing. However, I made a solemn promise to her that I would never reveal her secret, and I will not. In exchange, I received her oath that she would accompany me to High Watcher Oisig so he could complete Ilire's healing. I promised her that I would tell the High Watcher what needed to be done, without explaining to him why. I can assure you that, tomorrow at the latest, there will be no traces left of Ilire's injuries."

He turned and left Jaheira alone in her corner between two shelves. He surprised a glance from Ilire, who had been watching their exchange suspiciously. He walked to her and murmured in her ear, taking advantage of an occasion when Yoshimo was the one doing the dealings, "Do not worry, my lady. Your secret is still safe with me."

She gave him a faint smile. "I know, Jaheira's look of frustration already told me all that."

Anomen chuckled.


	12. Burdens of a Different Sort

Chapter XII. Burdens of a different sort

Two tendays later, Ilire led her group of adventurers to the Government District in search of a magic license for Aerie, their newest companion. When they arrived at the square in front of the building housing the city administration, Ilire surprised a longing look on Keldorn's face while he looked down to their right at a well-kept and spacious estate. Ilire wondered curiously if she should ask what was on his mind or risked prying. He spared her the need to make a decision when he sighed and spoke.

"It has been some time since I visited my family. Perhaps we could go and I could introduce you, I live just over there."

Ilire stopped dead in her tracks and stared blankly at Keldorn.

"Your family," she repeated flatly.

Keldorn blinked a few times in puzzlement at her strange manner, and explained, "Yes, there are my wife Maria and my two daughters, Leona and Vesper."

Ilire stared back at him without reaction for a long time, before she declared slowly, "Yes, I think it would be best if we visited your family as soon as possible. Since we're presentable for the government clerks, I would think we're clean enough to pay a visit to your wife. Just over there, you say? Is there any history to the Firecam estate, as there is for your armour?"

The old paladin smiled enthusiastically and recounted the glorious history of the Firecams while he guided his new adventuring companions towards his estate. When they arrived, Keldorn opened the door and gestured them all in.

Peony stuck her head out of the kitchen at the sound of the door and smiled at the visitors, though Keldorn noted she clearly forced the smile.

"Ah, Lord Keldorn, it is good to see you again. And sooner, too, this time!" She stepped back from the table where she was washing the breakfast's dishes, and quickly wiped her soapy hands and arms on her apron.

"Yes, my duty allows me to spend more time in the city," Keldorn explained. "Peony, I would like you to meet my new travel companions. We have already eradicated an evil cult together, and now I assist them on their quest to liberate one of their members. This is Ilire Ilvastarr of Candlekeep, their leader. With us are Anomen Delryn, Squire of the Order of the Radiant Heart, Minsc – and Boo – of Rashemen, Yoshimo of Kara-Tur, Aerie and Jaheira."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, m'ladies, m'lords." The servant curtsied politely.

"Please, Peony, is your mistress home?" Keldorn asked.

The servant nodded with obvious nervousness. "Yes, my Lord. Let me go get her." She disappeared upstairs and came back a few seconds later, followed by an imperial noble lady who could be no one but Maria Firecam. The cook disappeared deftly back into the kitchen.

"Who are these vagrants, Keldorn? Peasants out of Calimport?"

Ilire had preciously little tolerance for Amn's strict enforcement of the nobility system, and Maria's diminutive commentary alone would have been enough to make her blood boil, but the adventurer could feel sympathetic to a paladin's wife, so she schooled her features and kept her peace.

"Maria," Keldorn tried valiantly, "these are the worthy companions with whom I have fought and eradicated the cult of which –"

"I don't care!", his wife snapped. "Why should I care for the vagabonds you run away with! When you free yourself from your duty, you do not even have the care to stay long enough to leave your scent around this place! This is supposed to be your _home_, Keldorn!"

"But… but, Maria, you knew that my duty to my god and the Order would always be the most demanding… You knew this when we wed."

Maria looked at Keldorn and for the first time since her appearance something seemed to mollify in her expression, but only briefly.

"Yes, I was aware, but I failed to realize the scope of the sacrifice it would demand. Keldorn, this is not enough anymore. I… I am seeing someone."

Maria fell silent at the paleness betraying her husband's fury.

"Who is… who is this person?"

Maria was strangely collected. "His name is Sir William of Thorpe. He is from Trademeet, but stays for a few weeks at the Mithrest for business. He… he took the girls to the circus, Keldorn."

There was a long, taut silence.

"Leave me, my lady. To look at you now… to look at you now is madness."

Maria nodded slightly and turned away, regal as a queen, to walk back up the stairs. When she had disappeared from view, Keldorn tore his eyes away from the top of the stairs.

"I must… I must see this Sir William," he declared.

"Alright, Keldorn," Ilire agreed smoothly, putting a hand on his arm, "but we will go tomorrow."

"Tomorrow!?"

"Yes, tomorrow. You are not capable of being reasonable this morning and, while it is entirely understandable, you should be calmer when you go looking for a resolution to the present conflict."

The paladin protested, but when it became clear that Ilire would not let him go to the Promenade right away, he bent to her will. They spent the morning filling paperwork in the government building to obtain a magic license for Aerie, and then moved to the Bridge District to investigate the murders there. When they reached the Copper Coronet, dusk was falling.

That night, Ilire sat down in front of a brooding Keldorn with her usual glass of water.

"I figured you might come to the point of feeling like talking about now," she said.

The paladin shrugged unhappily. "It seems there is very little to speak about. My wife is breaking the vows of our marriage with another man. While my duty is clear, it would tear my heart to call my own wife before a tribunal. This Sir William… I must speak with him, try to understand…"

Ilire took a steadying breath. "I know that, Keldorn, but for the sake of your marriage, I think I must say something on Maria's behalf."

The older man looked up at her.

"I had trouble believing you were married. You've been with us for two tendays already and you never mentioned your family or asked to go sleep at your own estate while we're in the city." She chortled. "And here I was thinking I was the only woman foolish enough to marry the duty of a paladin of the Order."

Keldorn, at first baffled, suddenly grew angry. "Maria did not marry my _duty_ to the Order! She married _me_, and she was well aware of my responsibilities when we did."

Ilire considered him coolly. "Yes, I am sure she was. And when you go home, do you find it empty?"

"No, there is Peony, Stail and Reold taking care of the household, and the girls are there if Maria is not."

"And do you sometimes arrive late from the Order only to find no food left over so you can eat something?"

"No, there is always…"

"And do you have to complain about Maria's administration of the Firecam affairs?"

"No! Maria is well…"

"And do you sometimes feel neglected by the other nobles because of your frequent absences?"

"No, I don't…"

"Then why do you feel like your duty to the Order is more important and demanding than all those duties your wife takes care of?" Keldorn looked at her in displeased anger. "Keldorn… when your daughters were born, were _they_ warned that their father would always be away? You have to realize that the sacrifices you make are not only paid by you and by Maria, who once willing accepted such a price, but also by your daughters."

Keldorn sighed and looked away, obviously fighting off tears. "Did I fail them so completely, then? Do I have to fail the duty to my family to fulfil my duty to my god?"

Ilire shook her head. "No. I think no one in this city or in the Order considers that you have failed Torm in your years of service. Perhaps… perhaps you should consider that it is time to shift the focus of your duty from the Order back to your family… before it is too late."

Keldorn nodded slowly. "I cannot relinquish my duty to help you free Imoen, but I see your point… but I still must see this Sir William, hear it from his lips that he dishonoured a woman he knew was married, and why he did so…"

"I understand that, Keldorn, but please… just give Maria the benefit of the doubt until you've heard the whole story… until you're _ready_ to hear the whole story."

"Aye… I will do so."

ooooo

When they did go see Sir William the next day, Keldorn made an effort to remember Ilire's council, and found with a mix of relief and frustration that William had done nothing but take innocent walks with his wife. And the man spoke words surprisingly similar to Ilire's: Maria was to be forgiven the weight of her loneliness.

Keldorn went to his estate alone, afterwards, and when he came back, it was to announce that he had settled things positively with Maria and he would stay with his family for a few days, but would travel with them again afterwards if they were willing, until he had acquitted his duty by freeing Imoen.

Ilire cheered for him but, later, once alone in her room, she found herself thinking back of Ajantis, leaving her alone in his family's estate that morning long ago. How she wished she had known how to phrase her own needs at that moment, and make him stay. However, she knew it was just childish wishful thinking, because she had had a very good reason to let him go. She had taken the logical decision to stay in Waterdeep with her party, but he had needed to report to the Order.

Still, she understood Maria's reaction only too well. Sighing in her pillow, she thought back of Ajantis and of all the time he had spent being with her instead of fulfilling his duty. She reminded herself for the hundredth time that, despite the hardship of being the second priority in his life, every moment had been worth it. And she would have him back, with all his forgivable human failings, any instant he came back alive to her.

She cried herself to sleep that night.


	13. Moving On

_I'm late. Sorry. Blame it on the ASLO deadline having a positive interaction with lab rat weekend and forcing a decline in hobby hours. ;) I'm now back in business and exhibiting a satisfying recovery from the braindead state. Awr! À l'attaque!!! (and please review _

Chapter XIII. Moving On

Four months passed in a blur, while Ilire and her comrades travelled across Amn, helping whenever they could while gathering gold for Imoen's rescue. Ilire's companions kept changing; Nalia, Jan, Viconia, Mazzy, Valygar and Minsc exchanged places on the team, while Jaheira, Keldorn, Yoshimo and Anomen remained her close companions for the whole time. Ilire would have been lost without the steady and unfaltering support of Jaheira. She would have died a dozen times over, both feet in a trap, if not for Yoshimo's quiet but efficient skills. She would have been much more hard-pressed on the front line without Keldorn at her side. And, without Anomen… the burden of Irenicus would have been much heavier. For all his arrogant brashness, his trials and his vulnerabilities, the cleric had become her friend. He reminded her that everyone could let go of the past, no matter what.

ooooo

After four months in Ilire's company, Anomen often felt like he had travelled with her four years instead. Fighting at her side had been his first experience at fast-paced, small-party adventuring, during which he had killed more monsters and brigands than in all the previous years of his life. His existence had also hinged on a few critical events; his sister had died and he had taken the difficult decision not to avenge her death, trusting the authorities to find and judge the culprit. For doing what was right, his father had rewarded him with bitter words of rejection, but the Order had knighted him. Anomen knew he owed his knighthood to Ilire's advocating of the path of law. His father disowning him had been cruel and painful, but after a few days, Anomen's pride at being knighted had resurfaced over the hurt of betrayal, and he had thought things were settling for the better. But then, his father had died, and he had almost lost his mind to rage when confronting Saerk. It was again thanks to Ilire that he had maintained his sanity and his standing as a lawful knight of the Order.

Had he not known of Imoen's disappearance and Gorion's murder, he might not have listened to Ilire's advice regarding Moira's and Cor's deaths. He had been so close to giving into mindless rage that he was unsure he would have listened to Ilire if not for her argument that she knew what he felt, but that he must not obey his own thoughts.

He thought back about his foolish boasts of killing twenty giants all by himself – when it had been the deaths dealt by his whole battalion – and felt ashamed. He wondered why she had not kicked him out of her party right away, or later when Moira's death had rendered him boorish and moody.

But there he was still, four months later, on their last mission before they went to Spellhold. For the past month, Jaheira and Ilire had been arguing and trying to gauge their chances at facing Irenicus – because they were convinced he had managed to wrench the asylum's control from the Cowled Wizards. Ilire, under Jaheira's urgings, had constantly postponed their departure.

Anomen could hardly believe the collective power of his party, combined with the legendary objects of magical power they carried and used. Still, after hearing what Irenicus was capable of, he understood Ilire's and Jaheira's caution and agreed that they had better hone their skills in Amn before risking the confrontation in Spellhold. He shared the party's uneasiness at delaying Imoen's rescue, but he realized it would do her no good if they all died in the attempt.

For the last month, Anomen had been thinking back on all his time in Ilire's company, and found he had heard little about her, busy as he had been speaking about his own troubles. So he had questioned her about her adventures and she had told him about her husband. It seemed strange that someone so young was already a widow, but he was well aware of the dangers of a career in the Order. He had expressed his condolences for her loss, but she had shrugged and said he had been gone for months, and that it did not hurt as it used to.

More dark tales littered her past, and at Anomen's friendly offer of confidence, she unburdened herself by sharing them with him. When she would smile at him after one of her harsh stories, he was reminded that he was not the only one with a difficult past. Sometimes it felt like they were learning how to smile again together.

He had questioned her further, many nights around the campfire, and he had learned much of her former home of Candlekeep and her adventures on the Sword Coast. She had impressed him with her simplicity of mind, the brightness of her soul, her resilience to go on despite people's prejudice about her parentage, and her gentle kindness and generosity.

To put it simply, he had realized he was in love.

And so, for the last tenday Anomen had watched her smile at him at times, and ask his opinion at others, and share a tea with him some nights, and fence with him to warm up some mornings. He had tried to determine what he should read in her attitude. Simple camaraderie? Close friendship? Something more?

He had called her a dark flame once, just before his test, and each detail of her blush and fluttering eyelashes had been imprinted in his memory. She had not pushed him away then; she had blushed and smiled timidly. He could only hope she would not push him away now… now that he spied a crimson rhodelia growing in the thickets by the side of the road.

His heart started hammering because he had been pondering what to do for the last tenday, and he seized his courage despite his nervousness. He asked Ilire if he could take her a few strides from the road to speak to her. The rest of the party gave them curious glances as they walked past. A range of messages were on their faces, from Aerie's innocently inquiring look, Yoshimo's lecherous wink, to Keldorn's stern fatherly glare.

Anomen waited until the party had progressed further down the road, and knelt in the bushes to pluck the deep red flower. He beckoned Ilire closer. Unhindered by armour as he was, she gracefully folded her legs under her and knelt besides him in the grass.

"You see this flower I have picked, here?" he began. He wondered if she could hear his heart, but hoped not. "'Tis a rare find… a crimson rhodelia, if I am not mistaken."

Making an effort to control his shaking fingers, he extended the flower to her. She took it and turned it under her nose to taste the aroma.

"It is a beautiful flower."

"'Tis a most stately flower, my lady. Its color has the most fiery temperament, yet its aroma is sweet. It is the flower of lovers, yet it is also the flower of vengeance and warriors." Her eyes flickered worriedly to his face at the word "lovers". He went on in a whisper, "It reminded me of you, my lady. Beautiful to look upon, yet with a powerful nature. I find myself drawn to its scent, giving myself over almost to distraction."

She blushed and looked away. "You are quite the flatterer, Anomen."

"Nonsense, my lady. Flattery would imply that I was exaggerating. I find, instead, that this flower is but a pale imitation of the attraction you hold for me."

Her gaze shifted worriedly to him once more. He berated himself for not remembering his lessons in chivalry sooner: one should not make a lady feel pressured.

"You may find what I say forward. And if it is unwelcome, I shall desist." When no immediate request of peace came forward, he let out the breath he had been holding. "But I have found my feelings for you to have grown beyond those of mere friendship or alliance. I have said many times how grateful I am, but I have never told you that I was attracted to you from the start… your heart and bright soul, not to mention your beauty. Do… do my words offend you, my lady? Have I overstepped myself?"

She looked at him a long time, an indecipherable conflict in her eyes, and then turned away.

"Oh, Anomen. You have not overstepped yourself. You are being a perfect gentleman, but please, understand that I don't know… I don't know how to react to this. It's been so long since Ajantis, but I never allowed myself to consider… to think of another."

"I understand, my lady," he answered quietly.

"Please…" She sighed and raked her hand through her hair. "I appreciate your presence, and I consider you a good friend, but my feelings beyond that are all but clear. Just give me some time to think it through?"

Anomen smiled in understanding, even though his disappointment and embarrassment did not make it easy. "It was more than I could have hoped for, my lady." He took her hand and kissed it briefly. "Come, then, good lady," he said, helping her to her feet. "Let us continue on your quest and we can talk more at a later time, and I shall be free to complement you at your leisure."

She gave him a one-sided smile.

"Would you like me to adorn the rhodelia in your hair, my lady?", he asked.

ooooo

Anomen smiled hopefully at her when he asked her if he had offended her. In the stretching silence that followed, Ilire wondered why she could not bring herself to put a definite cross over Ajantis and move on. Maybe it was Anomen, she mused. With his prayers to Helm and his pride in finally being knighted in the Order, he reminded her of Ajantis somewhat. Still, the two men were intensely different – Ajantis being timid and with a bard's sensible heart, and Anomen hiding his self-doubts behind a harsh and arrogant façade.

Anomen was a good man. She knew he understood her torment and her struggle with the taint, because he hosted a likewise rage within himself. She sometimes thought he was the only one who could judge her objectively, and she took solace in the fact that he thought she was a good person, and not an evil to be scourged from the land. He was a good man, he understood her and did not judge her, he was a reliable companion, and he was so touching when he opened his heart to her.

Torn between her ties to the past and her hopes for the future, she asked him for more time. He accepted gracefully.

Then he innocently requested to adorn the rhodelia in her hair. Memories violently boiled up to the surface of her mind. She rebelled against them and pushed them aside. Ajantis was gone. For good. Anomen did not have to suffer because another man had put another flower in her hair a long time ago.

She forced a shaky smile to her lips. "I would like to, Anomen."

Taking a step forward to stand at her side, he gently trimmed the stem of the flower in her hair above her ear. He drew back with a smile. She reached up to touch the flower tentatively and laughed out loud.

"It's so big. Don't I look silly with this huge red blotch on the side of my head?"

Anomen let out a joyous laugh. "Not at all, my lady. It stands beautifully against your dark brown hair."

She realized she had been inviting compliments and blushed. She turned briskly and embarrassedly to the road. "Let's get back to the others."

"Of course."

So they made their way towards the others who waited for them some distance down the road. However, before they reached the rest of the team, Ilire and Anomen were ambushed. Ilire silently cursed herself; she should be wary in all circumstances, even when the safe passage of others before her gave her an illusion of safety. The bandits who jumped at Ilire and Anomen had had ample opportunity to sneak close and divide their forces to also keep the rest of the party busy.

However, no bandits could hold their ground with such fierce adventurers, and the combat was quickly over.

Besides Keldorn who had a bolt in the liver, everyone sported nothing but scratches and bruises. Ilire had a harmless if spectacular bloody gash on the cheek. Jaheira offered to heal it, but the warrior declined, preferring to keep the healing spells in case of a serious incident happening farther down the road.

And so they continued on their way towards the Windspear Hills, to give the dryads' acorns to their queen at last, and to see what could be done with Lord Firkraag's infestations of ogres.


	14. Windspear Hills

New chapter, making up for last chapter which was late ;)

_New chapter, making up for last chapter which was late ;)_

Chapter XIV. Windspear Hills

As they approached the Windspear Hills, a feeling of strangeness progressively overcame Ilire. This was where her late husband had disappeared, so long ago. This was where his grave was, whatever it may look like, and a moment of self-flagellation made her think she had not even bothered to come once before to pay her respects. She pushed the silly thought aside forcefully; she had been concentrating her attention on trying to free Imoen.

A year after his disappearance, there she was at the place where he had disappeared, with a flower in her hair that had been put there by another man. She thought tartly that maybe seeing for herself that Ajantis was nowhere to be found would help her to let go of the past, move on, and find some sense of closure.

Silent, she looked around at the desolate sandy hills and followed Keldorn's lead. The paladin knew the place like the back of his hand for having spent weeks there in search of Ajantis. He deftly guided them towards the dryads' grove; Ilire was relieved to finally deliver the dryads' acorns to their queen.

Keldorn pointed a red-painted rock by the side of the road. "This marks the limits of the Windspear Hills proper. It is the frontier of the land belonging to Lord Firkraag."

Ilire nodded distractedly and they continued on their way, but Lord Firkraag's problem of ogres confronted them sooner than expected. They were less than a league inside the border when suddenly an aggressive-looking group comprising an ogre, an ogre-mage, a wyvern and two orcs made its way towards them purposefully.

"Careful, Ilire, I did not see where they came from," Jaheira warned, concerned that such a large group had managed to slip from her notice. It was not often that nature failed to alert her to the presence of danger in the wilderness.

Ilire's team stopped while they had the advantage of the slope. Ilire, Keldorn and Anomen stood shoulder-to-shoulder on the first line, with Yoshimo behind them, Aerie with a defensive spell ready, and Jaheira guarding the rear.

The monsters, unbidden, approached until they were within a mere thirty feet of them.

"We shall cleanse the lands from your scourge!"

Ilire's group exchanged surprised glances. This was a _most_ unusual challenge, coming from a group of malefic creatures.

"Scourge?" Ilire echoed. "We are no scourge upon the land. We came here to –"

"No more lies! We will hear no more of your lies!"

The huge ogre leading the group ordered the attack with a move of his hand.

"Hold positions!" Ilire ordered. "Range weapons on the captain!"

Ilire's party reacted as one and, to tell the truth, they hardly needed her order. They were well used by then to the tactic. Anomen, Jaheira and Aerie rained bullets from their slings, Yoshimo let fly an arrow and Keldorn, a bolt. Ilire did not move on the front line, her two katanas drawn and ready. They always conducted a grouped ranged fire first, while out of enemy reach, and then they switched to melee when their opponents closed on them.

Four out of five missiles hit their target, among which Anomen's well-aimed bullet that hit the ogre straight on his helmet. The monster drew a staggering step backwards. Taking a hand up to his forehead, he looked at his lackeys running to the attack on each side of him. The first line of fighters of Ilire's party switched to close combat weapons.

"Hold!" he screamed.

The monsters drew to a grudging halt. The air quivered from tension. Ilire's blades hungered for blood, but an ogre stopping an ongoing attack was a highly unusual event that deserved investigation. So she remained still, but ready.

"Have you decided to reconsider your attack and discuss instead?" she said.

The huge ogre slowly pushed past his monsters, staggering slightly from the bullet to his head.

"Don't you recognize me, my lady?" the ogre responded.

"Recognize you? I'm sorry, I don't count many ogres in my acquaintances," she retorted.

"We are being played for fools. Do not fall for it. Can none of your companions dispel this magic? Can't Lady Dynaheir see through this illusion?"

Ilire staggered back a step and only held to her feet because of Anomen's and Keldorn's hands on her elbows.

"How do you know Dynaheir's name?"

Keldorn let go of her elbow and cast something. The ogre waited patiently and without moving until Keldorn's spell was finished.

Nothing happened.

"I cannot dispel this magic," Keldorn observed warily, "if magic there is."

"I have no reason now to suppose that you are truly a wyvern, so I would thank you not to do the same," the ogre observed wryly.

"S-sir Keldorn?", Aerie quipped from the rear of the party.

"Yes, Aerie?"

"Th-there _is_ magic at work here."

The inquisitor turned to the cleric-mage. "Can you dispel it?"

"N-no. I think the m-mean m-man, Edwin, could, but I can't. I-I can a-almost identify it. I think you sh-should be able to get rid of it, Sir Keldorn. You w-would have a better chance with True Sight than Disp-pel Magic. Y-you would have to focus on the th-third gateway, though. This is a powerful spell. M-maybe you could unravel it by the ends of the alteration threads too, if you c-can't catch the wisps of illusion on the third gateway."

The old paladin stared for a moment at the so young-looking elf, reminded that she was not quite as naïve and inexperienced as she looked.

"I do not know what the third gateway is, Aerie," he said.

"You c-can distinguish the alteration school of magic from illusion, can't you?"

He nodded.

"Then instead of c-concentrating on dispelling illusion while casting True Sight, just lunge for alteration and hold onto it. That should t-tear the spell apart."

Keldorn smiled inwardly at the near disappearance of the girl's stutter when she was in charge of anything. He turned to the group of monsters and started to cast his spell, focusing on any wisp of alteration he caught around them.

He was not quite sure what he did, but when the white eye appeared above his head at the end of his spell, a seeming mist evaporated from the scene. He now stood in front of a group of paladins of the Order, wearing its crescent emblazoned on their armour.

And then he caught sight of exactly _who_ stood in front of them, pale and a hand to his aching head because of Anomen's sling bullet. Worried for Ilire, he turned to see how she reacted to the reappearance of a husband she had given up on.

_I should be too shocked to think_, she reflected, looking at Ajantis' grave grey eyes. But she had already been shocked by Dynaheir's name earlier, and it seemed her brain could not sustain two moments of arrested thoughts in so short a time. _It's not possible. It can't be him. How could he be here all this time? It's not fair! Why does he reappear just when I thought I was letting go?_

Ajantis extended a hand towards a frozen Ilire, and gently touched her cheekbone just above the cut that bled all the way down to her jaw.

"My lady, what caused you such a grievous wound?"

Flinching at his touch, she roughly freed her elbow from Anomen's hand and planted both her blades in the scarce grass at her feet. Crossing her arms on her chest, she held herself up right before her husband and glared at him. She punched him with the palm of the hand square in the middle of the chest, with all her strength. She hurt her hand and the force of the blow drew Ajantis a step back.

"A grievous wound?" she repeated incredulously. Her eyes filled with tears. "You disappear for over a year and the best you can find to inquire about is the least of my concerns?"

She let out a sob, shoved Anomen and Yoshimo brutally out of her way, and started running back the road from whence they came.

Ajantis grimaced slightly while he touched the spot she had hit, and lifted his other hand to his head again. Taking a step forward, Anomen healed him before turning to Jaheira, who had uncharacteristically watched Ilire go without moving.

"Please, my lady, go find her?", Anomen asked the druid.

The half-elf stared at him pointedly. "I would think you would prefer to speak to her than to Ajantis."

The cleric took a breath. "My wishes are irrelevant, Jaheira. She needs you at the moment. Go find her and, please, heal the gash on her cheek and make sure it doesn't leave a scar on her face. We are unlikely to go any further today, and we might as well make use of our healing spells." Anomen sighed. "She carries enough scars as it is," he added under his breath.

The druid bowed her head curtly and left, tracking Ilire's steps in the dirt and the trampled grass.

ooooo

Ajantis felt intensely grateful when suddenly his thoughts were cleared with the touch of a healing spell. He did not know the cleric, but his armour bore the crescent identifying him as a fellow member of the Order.

Then reality hit him with more strength than Ilire's blow earlier.

"A year?" he exclaimed in disbelief. "What does she mean I've been gone for a year?"

He stared uncomprehendingly at her companions; he only recognized Jaheira and Keldorn, and had no idea who the Order cleric, the kara-turan or the elf in mage robes were. He looked from Sir Keldorn to the other man of the Order. The cleric's eyes turned to steel.

"She means exactly that, Squire Ajantis. You have been gone for a year, and you do inquire about the least of her concerns."

Sir Keldorn put a restraining hand on the younger man's arm.

"Anomen, Ajantis obviously was under the influence of a spell. There is no reason for such animosity."

Anomen relented slightly. "I am aware of that, Sir Keldorn." He turned to Ajantis. "Please forgive my harshness, but such treatment she has been subjected to fills me with anger."

"What treatment?" Ajantis tried again.

Keldorn and Anomen exchanged a look.

"Ajantis –" Keldorn began, only to be cut off by Anomen.

"I will tell him, Sir Keldorn. Please, see with the men if any other wife should be made aware that she is not indeed a widow."

Anomen took Ajantis by the elbow and guided him away from the others. When they were well out of earshot, Anomen released him and looked sadly at him a long time, apparently trying to determine where to begin.

"Forgive my earlier outburst, and please forgive my bullet to your head."

Ajantis cocked his head and crossed his arms. "There is nothing to forgive; you thought you were defending yourself against an ogre and you healed me. Could we not lose time on trivialities? Obviously I have been under some sort of spell and much as happened in my absence. Would you please fill in the blanks for me?"

Anomen took a breath. "Regarding the time before I met Lady Ilire, Sir Keldorn would be better suited to tell you everything in detail; he is the one who conducted the search for you. I only know that word reached Waterdeep that you had not returned from your mission in the Windspear Hills at the foreseen date. Lady Ilire decided to come south in search of you. Meanwhile, Keldorn left Athkatla for the Windspear Hills to look for any sign of you. He could find none and, when he went back to the Order headquarters, Lady Ilire too had disappeared, somewhere on the road."

Ajantis frowned. "Ilire had disappeared? Where?"

"Captured near Baldur's Gate," Anomen provided grimly. The livid rage etched on his features spoke clearer than any words the terrible consequences of Ilire's captivity.

"Captured? By whom?" Ajantis demanded angrily

"A madman by the name of Jon Irenicus," Anomen uttered through gritted teeth.

"And who is this Irenicus?"

"Little is known of him. He is an adept of the magical arts, and owned an underground complex beneath Waukeen's Promenade in Athkatla."

"But… more must be known of a man who managed to capture warriors such as Ilire and her companions."

Anomen's eyes hardened. "The man is a twisted bastard not worthy of rotting in the deepest dungeon there is to be found on the face of Faerûn. I even doubt he is worthy of spending the rest of eternity in the Abyss. Somehow a worse fate seems warranted for him. But nothing more is known of him."

The fierce hatred he heard in the voice of a righteous knight of the Order took Ajantis aback.

"Sir Anomen, such spiteful words do not become a man of the Order."

Anomen stared back at him with an unchanged expression. No abandonment to rage justified or excused his words, only the determination of a man who realizes exactly what he is saying. His voice low and menacing, he enumerated the list of Irenicus' crimes. "The twisted maniac killed Khalid and desecrated his body beyond hope for resurrection. He did it to show Imoen. He tortured Dynaheir to death before Ilire's and Minsc's eyes. I will spare you what he did to the living."

There was a silence.

"Minsc and Imoen are also missing from our old group," Ajantis observed, "aside from Khalid and Dynaheir. Where are they?"

"Minsc is the new ranger of the Umar Hills, maybe a ten hours' walk north of here. Imoen is currently the captive of the Cowled Wizards, along with Irenicus."

Ajantis frowned. "Imoen is full of mischief, but she wouldn't do anything to warrant –"

"When Ilire, Imoen, Jaheira, Minsc and Yoshimo escaped from Irenicus' dungeon, the mage unleashed a great conflagration of magic in his battle against the Shadow Thieves. The Cowled Wizards intervened and seized any involved. Since Irenicus had killed all the thieves and a few of the Cowled Wizards, that left no magic users but himself and Imoen, and both were taken. Jaheira told me that Irenicus overpowered the Cowled Wizards and set a condition to his surrender: Imoen would come with them. The Cowled Wizards complied. Recently, we have purchased a way to the Cowled Wizards' Asylum with the Shadow Thieves –"

"The Shadow Thieves! How could Ilire fall so low as dealing with Shadow Thieves?"

"Offers of help to enter the Asylum did not exactly rain on us," Anomen remarked coldly. "As it was, we had a choice between vampires and the Shadow Thieves. What would you we have rather chosen?"

Ajantis raked his fingers through his hair. "The Shadow Thieves, I suppose," he conceded, "although it seems unlikely no one else was willing to help."

"As you must know, the Cowled Wizards are a powerful organization. Few are willing to test their wrath by aiding the liberation of one of their prisoners."

The paladin nodded wearily. "I guess. So, if you have purchased a way to the Asylum, why are you in the Windspear hills, and not on your way to rescue Imoen?"

"We did not dare go yet," the cleric answered simply. "We feared we would be brushed aside effortlessly by Irenicus should we make the attempt too soon."

Ajantis stared in silence, trying to digest all this.

"If it is the Cowled Wizards' Asylum, why do you fear facing Irenicus? Was he not taken prisoner?"

"He was, although Jaheira tells me he had sufficient power to bully the Cowled Wizards and set conditions to his surrender. It is unlikely he will sit in a cell and wait for his captors' good will. We prefer to suppose and prepare for the worst, so we will avoid unpleasant surprises."

Ajantis nodded. "That is wise. Who is this Yoshimo you mentioned, who escaped Irenicus dungeon with Ilire?"

"He is the Kara-turan you have seen in our company. He has also been a prisoner of Irenicus, although for only a short time, and did not suffer the full extent of the madman's 'care'. Aside from Sir Keldorn, whom you apparently know, our other companion is Aerie. She is a cleric of Bhaervan and a mage."

Ajantis nodded distractedly, at a loss to order his thoughts and all the questions he needed to ask. Furthermost in his heart, however, was worry for his lady.

"Was she… was Ilire hurt badly by this Irenicus?"

Anomen's eyes turned flinty. "Yes."

The silenced dragged on. "Could you elaborate?" Ajantis pressed.

"She was tortured. Gruesomely tortured. It took a week worth of my most powerful healing spells, combined with the restoration power of a High Watcher, to heal everything that had been done to her body. Unfortunately, there is little we can do about what was done to her mind. I think we can consider it a victory that she recently has begun to smile again."

"A week worth of healing spells? But what in the name of Helm had been done to her?"

"I do not suggest you ask her."

"That is why I am asking _you_," Ajantis pointed out.

"She only revealed the extent of her injuries to me so I could heal her, and I promised her never to repeat what she told me. Furthermore, I promised her that I would never act as though I knew anything of the tortures she endured. I broke my secret to an extent in revealing this to you; I feel justified in doing so because you must be warned, but I will tell you no more."

The absolute finality to Anomen's statement annoyed Ajantis; he was her husband, after all. The cleric apparently followed his train of thought, because he relented partly and added, "I do not refuse this to thwart you. Lady Ilire told me what had been done to her, but only because I needed to know so I could heal her. Irenicus held her in captivity for over six months. Her accounts of his tortures are like nothing I have ever heard, even though I have been in charge of knights of the Order who had been captured by various organizations for information. Unlike what is generally believed, torture is a lengthy process. The prisoners are starved, kept awake for days, kept in the cold and humidity, and so on, for weeks or months before their questioning begins. Irenicus did not proceed in this way. He attacked her body with a meticulous fury that I do not understand. I do not know what he tried to accomplish by it, but I can tell you that he spared nothing, _nothing_ to Ilire. I was not making a figure of speech earlier when I said it is a victory she can smile again… There are plenty of scars on her already; please do not remind her of it needlessly by questioning her regarding them."

A sick and cold feeling nestled in the pit of Ajantis' stomach. "He spared her… spared her nothing, you say." His mind tried to imagine what would make a battle-hardened cleric pale at the mere mention of it.

Anomen shook his head.

"Why?" Ajantis whispered.

"I do not know," Anomen answered cautiously. "Lady Ilire mentioned that he spoke of her _potential_ once, but nothing else."

Ajantis felt the need to sit down. "Her potential as a Bhaalspawn? Was it what he tried to liberate by hurting her?"

"I do not know," Anomen said, "but that is obviously a possibility."

There was a silence. Ajantis was lost in his swirling thoughts.

"How does my disappearance in the mists of a spell fit into all this?" he asked.

"I do not know. I merely told you what happened to Ilire while you were in the clutches of the illusion. As for the reasons of your disappearance, you should consult Sir Keldorn; I am sure he will understand what is going on."

Ajantis nodded and got up. "I think I must speak with Ilire first, however."

For the first time, Anomen averted his eyes as he nodded. "Of course."

Suddenly realization hit Ajantis. "There was a flower in Ilire's hair," he stated in a very accusatory manner.

Anomen took a while to bring his eyes back on Ajantis'. "There was," he agreed.

"Are you the one who put it there?"

Anomen wished he had spoken with Jaheira and asked her to pretend she was the one to have done it. He was not sure the druid would have agreed to any sort of lie, but since he had managed to get Ilire to speak and to be tended to by High Watcher Oisig, Jaheira had warmed up to him and held him in more respect. Maybe she would have agreed to preserve his dignity and save Ilire the pain of having to explain to her husband why there was a flower in her hair put there by another man.

Anomen took a breath. "Yes," he told the truth.

Ajantis' eyes narrowed.

"I just thought it might brighten her up, and make her forget about the battle for a while," Anomen defended himself.

Ajantis glared at the knight for a while, before he turned his back and strode back towards the others.


	15. Silence

Chapter XV

Chapter XV. Silence

Ajantis could not begin to sort out how he felt. He was angry, worried, sad, and confused regarding what this Irenicus had done to the woman he loved. He was puzzled over his lengthy disappearance and his strange lack of recollection of time gone by. He wondered why no one had searched and found him before now. And he felt betrayed that Ilire had let another man put a flower in her hair. He tried to understand what it must have felt like to have him disappear for so long and believe she was a widow; maybe she had thought it was time to move on? Instantly he rebelled against that train of thought. Why hadn't she looked for him? He had been there, under some sort of spell, apparently, all that time. He had been waiting for her, in a way.

Before he had a chance to order his thoughts, he found himself back with the other knights of his battalion. The men were discussing quietly with Sir Keldorn. The aged paladin appeared to be relating to them what had happened since their disappearance. All bore grim expressions, but Ajantis had no doubt his scowl was the worst of all. The Kara-turan Yoshimo was throwing his dagger at a tree a respectable distance away and the cleric-mage Aerie was fussing with her robes while she waited.

Sir Keldorn turned away from the other knights when he saw him and walked towards him.

"Sir Ajantis, it is good to see you again."

"I wish it were in better circumstances than being pitched against each other," Ajantis observed dryly.

"Of course," his old mentor answered quietly. "Something grave happened. I think I should speak with you –"

"I would speak with my wife first, Sir Keldorn."

The paladin appeared about to protest, but finally he bowed his head and yielded. Ajantis strode away from the men, into the wilderness off the road. The Windspear Hills offered nothing but an arid and desolate landscape, and progress was easy over the scarce grass and around the rare bushes.

He made no effort to be silent, but even if he had, he was sure Jaheira would have detected his presence long before he was within hearing range of their conversation. As it was, they were totally unsurprised when he came upon them; they were both staring in his direction when he rounded the big boulder behind which they sat. Jaheira had an arm around Ilire's shoulders, who sat with her knees in her arms and her back against the rock. Ilire's face was set into the hard lines of when she prepared for a hard battle. That look, as though she prepared to defend her very life against him, on top of every other emotion swirling inside of him, angered him beyond reason.

"Jaheira, if you would leave us alone for a moment, I would like to speak with Ilire in private."

The druid snorted and strode away, after a short bow of the head to Ajantis.

ooooo

When Jaheira left them alone, Ilire awkwardly got to her feet to face her husband, wishing she could just throw herself in his arms and forget everything like she used to.

She remembered the first time he had taken her in his arms. It had required careful planning to catch him unguarded in a moment when he did not fear such a short lapse in vigilance would endanger him and everyone else. He had asked for her hand in the middle of a three days expedition in the wilderness, and when they had finally reached an inn, she had followed him upstairs to relieve her shoulders of the weight of her pack, and to have a moment alone with him. To her surprise, she had not needed to ask. As soon as they were in relative private, he had turned on her and asked her if she cared to wait for a few minutes. Intrigued, she had agreed and let her pack down in the middle of the corridor. He had gone to his room and come back a few minutes later, without his armour. Without a word, he had come to her purposefully and enfolded her in his strong arms, holding her against his chest. She remembered how the world had ceased to exist for a while, how her father's death, the machinations of who would turn out to be her brother, and all the other concerns of her adventures had evaporated from her mind. Everything. All had been replaced by warm and glowing contentment, which had exploded into bright joy when he had spoken softly and said he loved her.

More than anything in the world, more than escaping her heritage, more than seeing Imoen safe again, she wished she could ever find a haven from the memories of Irenicus. If only for an instant.

There was a flinty glint in Ajantis' eyes that told her that it was out of the question at the moment. It hurt. More than she could put it in words in her mind.

It hurt, because that was all she asked of him regarding Irenicus; no explanation for his absence, no justification for not coming to her rescue when she had been helpless, no reminder that he had failed his vows of marriage in denying her protection when she had most needed it. She only wanted him to help her forget, and he denied her even that. He had been there in the Windspear Hills, twiddling his thumbs, while she was being cut open and ravaged by spells in the mage's rancid dungeon. She knew she would not have felt like he had stupidly been doing nothing and leaving her to her fate at Irenicus' hands, if he had not denied her his comforting presence.

It hurt because, even if Firkraag's desires of tormenting her by having Ajantis die by her hand had been thwarted, she felt no closer to him than when she had thought him dead or than if she had really killed him.

It hurt because she had often daydreamed of what it would be like to have him back, and not once had she considered the possibility of a cold look in his eyes that held her away.

And it hurt because his reaction was exactly what Irenicus had described. Apart from his one rambling about her "potential", he had spoken little. However, every word was calculated, dosed as precisely as the tortures and the spells, to hurt just as much. He had said that no one could truly love her with the essence within her; that the very few who would not run away, either in fear or righteous disapproval of her nature, would be disgusted by the desecration brought to her body, by blades and spells and flesh, his and that of some – carefully chosen to be the most brutal – of the vampires' prisoners.

Irenicus had made a constant point that she was the child of a god and she was not a slave to death. People would despise her out of revulsion for her vile nature, would hurt her by fear of her power over their lives, or would try to stay away from her notice in dread of her heritage. He had argued that the only ones who would remain by her side were the ambitious and evil who would seek to better their station by gaining her favour. She struggled against the idea every day. She forcefully reminded herself that Jaheira, even if the druid would not admit it under torture, considered Ilire half the daughter she had never had, even if her presence had led to her husband's death. Ilire fought to keep in mind that Minsc thought her the greatest evil-butt-kicker in history, even if she had been unable to do anything while Dynaheir was killed. She clutched to childhood memories of games with Imoen, of a time when there had been no godly essence involved and when she had had a friend. She strained to appreciate Aerie's naked and naïve honesty, and not to dishonour her with speculations of how the gentle avariel could be perverse enough to stick around a bringer of death if she was nothing more.

And some nights, when after the nightmares she failed to hold any of those beliefs with conviction, she thought of Anomen, who knew what had been done to her. Anomen who had held her when she had told him everything, who had shed tears over her wounds, who had said that every one of Irenicus' words was untrue, that no one would be disgusted of her for what vile acts she had been a victim of. That anyone would be disgusted of those who had done it to her, not of her.

It was the one thread of sanity and possible redemption she had been clutching to for the past four months.

And Ajantis, her husband, the man she loved, was snapping this fragile hope now. The one, of all people, who she had expected to look past anything because of his love for her, was not looking past. He held her away, just as Irenicus had said.

It hurt so much that she could not cry. She could hardly breathe at all. An awful silence lengthened while both searched for words. It seemed to grow into a living thing, with a gaping maw ready to swallow them whole and sharp talons to rip any attempt at communication to shreds. Its shadow obscured the past and the memory of their complicity and wordless understanding. Ilire was the first one to find the silence unbearable and break it.

"What are you going to do now?" she croaked.

He flinched. "What do you mean, what am I going to do now?"

"Aren't you going to write to your mother to tell her that you're not, in fact, dead?"

He stared at her incredulously. "Of course I will. As soon as I get back to Athkatla."

"Ah. You will be leading your men back to the headquarters, then."

The hardness of his eyes spilled to the rest of his face. "If my lady orders me away, then I suppose I shall."

She thought the tears ought to sneak past the lump in her throat then, but they didn't. "That's not what I meant. I thought that was what _you_ were saying."

"It was not," he retorted stiffly.

Another silence descended.

"Why did you hide from Keldorn when he searched for you?" she asked.

He frowned at her. "I did not hide from Keldorn. We must have been under the influence of some sort of spell; an hour ago I was convinced I arrived here yesterday."

Awkward silence engulfed them again.

"Then what are you going to do now?" Ilire asked again.

For a fleeting instant, he wished he had not received an utterly proper education. That way he could have allowed himself to yell at her that from his perspective, it looked like she would prefer he left her alone with Sir Anomen and never speak to her again. Instead he controlled his breathing.

"I will try to uncover the reason why I cannot recall the time I spent here. At first, I felt like I arrived here only yesterday, but now that the spell fades off, I remember numerous mornings waking to the thought of reaching this place only yesterday. I would offer to assist you on the quest if I was certain you wished to undertake it. The woman I used to know would have, but now I am not so sure."

He might have punched her in the gut that he would not have cut her breath any more efficiently.

"What do you take me for, Ajantis? Of course I will try to see what Firkraag's trying to hide under that spell."

"Then shall we go speak with Sir Keldorn and see what he has to say about it? Sir Anomen suggested that I speak to him."

"Then let's go."


	16. Hurt

Sorry for the day late

_Sorry for the day late! Blame it on my new video game! _

Chapter XVI. Hurt

Ilire was amazed at herself that she managed to walk back with him to the other men. She discussed very calmly of what needed to be done and of Firkraag's potential reasons for trapping a group of knights in time.

After a short and terse discussion between an uneasy Keldorn, a group of uncomfortable knights, an angry Ajantis and a devastated Ilire, Ilire's and Ajantis' groups concluded that Lord Firkraag had wished them to attack each other. With the adventurers' superior experience and equipment, the squires would likely have lost, so it seemed Firkraag's plan had entailed Ilire killing her husband.

"It seems the whole world but myself always knew I was a Bhaalspawn. Maybe Firkraag figured it would be entertaining to watch my reaction when I would realize what I had done," Ilire hypothesized.

Ajantis averted his eyes.

"Well, we will not know before we investigate," Keldorn observed, "and obviously that will have to wait until tomorrow."

"And why would you be ordering us to wait?" Ilire asked aggressively.

The paladin glared at her with all his fatherly authority. "Emotions are running high enough as it is. Let it rest for a night, Ilire."

She fell silent and Keldorn, to soften his harsh words, took her elbow and gently guided her to the cabin nearby. It was the home of a man named Garren Windspear, the former Lord of Windspear Hills. On the way, Keldorn informed the others that Garren had been very helpful in the search for Ajantis, and would probably have a theory on Firkraag's motives. Besides, he could offer lodgement for the night, and could call on some good relations with the Order in Athkatla to get information regarding the new landlord.

To Ilire, the dinner seemed to pass in a daze. Everyone apparently enjoyed the occasion to relax and forget their predicament for a short while. Ilire excused herself early, lest she dishonour the host by being sick because of the dead rabbit staring at her with dead, white eyes from the platter in the middle of the table, his insides emptied just like Irenicus surely had dreamt to do with her a few times.

Once out into the open, she drank in the cold night air in great gulps, trying to slow her heart beat and regain control of her senses. She wandered some distance from the cabin and collapsed by the riverbank nearby.

She had never felt so alone in her entire life. She could still hear faint sounds coming from Garren's cabin, the laughter and loud conversation of a dozen men assembled. She had stolen only a glance at Ajantis during the dinner; he had been glowering at her from the other end of the table, and hastily turned back to his men when she looked his way.

There was very little wildlife in the Windspear Hills, and not even one spring peeper or one nightlark filled the silence to make Ilire feel less alone. Loneliness crushed her chest like a physical weight. She felt alone with her memories, alone with the responsibilities of party leadership, alone with her worry for Imoen and what the bastard Irenicus could be doing to her at the very moment, alone with her feeling of being abandoned by Ajantis. The only one she felt like she could have spoken with was Anomen, and she was unlikely to go anywhere near him while Ajantis glowered at her like he had glared at her that night. Aerie was much too naïve to be anything but traumatized by such dark thoughts, Yoshimo just plainly wouldn't care, she couldn't imagine speaking of matrimonial matters with Keldorn and his own perceived failures to his wife, and well, she did not feel like coping with Jaheira's sharp tongue at the moment.

She begrudged this to Ajantis too. The little comfort she could have taken from just sitting near Anomen, and the way he would look at her, smile and, seemingly reading her thoughts, tell her that everything would be all right.

She tried to hold the tears in check, but it was no use. It only served to give her a headache from the build-up of tension.

She nevertheless cut herself up abruptly when she heard someone coming. She found herself, despite everything, hoping it would be Ajantis coming to set things straight between them. It was not.

It was Jaheira, coming slowly through the underbrush to give her time to compose herself if she could. She could not.

When the druid caught sight of Ilire's face, however quickly she turned it away, she said in an uncharacteristically gentle tone, "Ilire, what are you doing here crying alone in the dark?"

"I'm doing what I want!" Ilire retorted with unusual childishness. "I don't want your scolding tonight! Stow it away for tomorrow if you want, but not tonight! Just leave me alone!"

Jaheira sighed and knelt besides her, without an expected sharp retort. With a hand on the young woman's chin, she forced Ilire to look up at her. The adventurer's face glistened with wet tears in the moonlight. "Oh, child, did you think I would forget you out here alone tonight? Do you think I would scold you for your pain?"

Startled by the gentleness of the druid as she put an arm around her shoulders and drew her into a motherly hug, Ilire started sobbing again.

"Why wouldn't you be scolding me? I'm only being weak. Leave me be."

Jaheira stroked Ilire's hair softly and let out a long sigh. "There is no weakness in searching for balance by letting go of some of your pain. I understand how you feel."

Ilire cried a while in silence, too startled to say anything. Jaheira thought to herself that Khalid would have done such a better job out of this. It had always been easier for him to speak to Ilire of such personal matters, it seemed.

"It is not always easy being married," Jaheira mused aloud.

A fit of sobs answered her. "What are you talking about? You and Khalid never argued!"

Jaheira chuckled. "Oh, we argued all right. We only did it out of sight, and did not let it affect our skills as adventurers."

"I knew you would get to the scolding part eventually," Ilire muttered tartly, stiffening.

The druid laughed. "I did not mean it that way. I meant to say that I know what it is like to have an argument, and being unable to set things straight right away, while acting normally around others. But do not despair. You and Ajantis have only found each other again. Things will settle in time."

"I would think a half-elf has a different grasp of time than human me. Besides, this is not an argument we had. This is…" She searched for words a moment. "Oh, Jaheira, the way he looked at me. It was like speaking to a stranger. He said he did not know what kind of person I was anymore. I was so hoping that he wouldn't care what Irenicus did, that he would just hold me and make it all go away, but no! He just threw it all back in my face! As though it's my fault, and he looked at me so coldly, like I was the most disgusting thing he had ever set eyes on, that I don't think I could have been more ashamed of myself. He was speaking of himself outside of my plans as though it shamed him to be associated with me, and he said he didn't know who I was anymore!"

Jaheira hushed her, trying to be gentle despite a smothering anger. Her frustration at Ajantis wanted to make her snap something along the lines of "Oh, come now, child! I'm sure he didn't mean it that way!". Instead, she took a few calming breaths, slowly stroking a hand down Ilire's hair and holding her head against her shoulder.

"I understand how that makes you feel," she said.

She wondered whether she had chosen the right words, because Ilire's tears doubled in intensity. The sobs did not choke or rake Ilire anymore, however, but sounded more liberating, and the druid decided at last, with definite relief, that she had chosen well.

_I hope you are proud of me, Khalid,_ she told his spirit silently, _because I_ am _making a big effort._ She could almost hear his laughter in her mind, but even that memory was fading. What she would not have given to see his smile clearly again, study each detail of his features like she used to. She made a face when she thought of what it must be like for Ilire to find her husband again, whom she had believed dead for longer than even Jaheira, and to be welcomed by a cold look.

She let out a sigh. "Oh, yes, I understand how that makes you feel."


	17. Paradoxical Distance

_Sorry for the lateness of the chapter! I blame it all on the mating season! (I'm speaking of birds, here, eheh) Birds are singing each morning and I can't help myself, I have to get up to watch and listen to them even if it's only 5. Then I fall from exhaustion around 8 each night, and I still have to work in between. So fanfiction pretty much goes out the window for the month of May. As though it's not enough, I'll be away for a 12-days birding trip, 1200km from home, starting the 9__th__, so unfortunately the chance for updates before June are slim._

_But I'll be back with more chapters when warblers stop singing, I swear :) Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please read and review!_

Chapter XVII. Paradoxical Distance

The twelve of them could not fit into Garren's cabin together, so after dinner they set up their bedrolls on the porch. Ilire conspicuously avoided Ajantis' presence and, with the rest of her team, she set up her cot on a side of the porch separated from Ajantis' by a corner of the house.

Well into the night, some sound alerted Ajantis and suddenly jolted him awake. Overwhelming his disorientation took him a while; he wondered why a wooden roof hung over his head instead of the familiar tarp of his tent. It seemed that, despite Firkraag's spell, sleeping in the tent had grown into a habit.

But then he remembered being at Garren's cabin after finding Ilire again in the company of one Sir Anomen, and doom crashed down on his head again. He also realized that what had woken him were the sounds of muffled whispers and hushed sobs.

He had always awoken to Ilire's nightmares, from the very first night he had slept next to her under the stars, on the road north of Nashkel. He possessed some kind of antennae that alerted him when she was distressed. His antennae had clearly betrayed him, however, while she had been in Irenicus' clutches.

He did not need to ponder his actions. Silently he got up and turned the corner of the house. Even through the fog of sleep, he could still feel the pain of Ilire's betrayal, but his only possible course of action was to go to her, take her in his arms and shake her awake, so he could hold her and reassure her when she would emerge from the nightmares, drenched in sweat and shivering.

The sight that greeted him when he turned the corner froze him dead in his tracks.

Ilire was already awake and clutched at Jaheira as though the druid was the only lifeline keeping her from drowning. The half-elf, uncharacteristically silent, held the young woman with fierce protectiveness, as though to dare Bhaal's essence itself to come and face her.

What halted Ajantis, however, was Anomen kneeling besides the two women. The caring and naked concern etched in his features sent a cold jolt through Ajantis. His hand squeezing Ilire's shoulder in a platonic gesture of comfort, the cleric murmured a prayer of protection.

At that moment, Anomen lifted his head, his regard caught by a move or a ray of moonlight playing over a new silhouette in the dark, and saw Ajantis observing the three of them. Letting his hand fall away from Ilire's shoulder, he took a step back as though to leave his place to Ajantis.

Ajantis' eyes went wide. Gulping a mouthful of air, he staggered away from the corner and nearly stepped on his sleeping comrades in his hurry to stumble away from the house. Very much in shock, he walked away until he collapsed on the bare ground some distance from the cabin. He sat down and looked out unseeingly into the night.

Ajantis thought ungraciously that it would all be much simpler if Sir Anomen was not so perfectly honourable; he could simply blame him for the difficulties with Ilire and challenge him for honour's sake. But no, he could not give Ajantis any reason to hate him; surely he had had an occasion to take Ilire in his arms when she had awoken, but he had let Jaheira do it. More than that, he had yielded to Ajantis when he had seen him.

Then Ajantis forcefully pushed the thought out of his head, fustigating himself for being so full of ill-will. It was not befitting of Helm's doctrine, and he should not blame Sir Anomen for the very reason that he was not blameable in the least.

Still, it felt wrong that Sir Anomen should be there by Ilire's side to comfort her, while Ajantis could only stand by, watch and do nothing. He had always tried to help his wife with the taint, even though her nightmares and the evil essence she harboured within had always left him helpless. Ajantis knew better than anyone all she had sacrificed in her adventures, the goodness of her heart and her honourable way of life. Once he had overcome the initial shock to learn she was a Child of Bhaal, it had seemed to him that the taint had left Ilire unmarred, except for her terrible nightmares.

All he had ever been able to do to help Ilire against the taint was to be there for her when she woke from her nightmares. But she had turned to Jaheira and Anomen for that as well.

Ajantis remained a while sitting not far from the cabin, praying to his god of watchers for acceptance of the changes in Ilire's life, before he went back to his bedroll to rest uneasily for what was left of the night.

ooooo

It seemed things would keep going from bad to worse. The next morning, Garren left for Athkatla to gather some intelligence on Firkraag, but the new Lord of Winspear used the occasion to stage another scheme. Apparently frustrated that his plans for Ajantis' death had been foiled, he sent a group of his servants who abducted Garren's son and promised Ilire would be blamed for it. When she angrily demanded why Firkraag relentlessly persecuted her, the leader of Firkraag's servants explained that his master wished to sate his desire for vengeance; he had been wronged by people related to Ilire who were now safe from his wrath in the arms of death, so he was left with accomplishing his revenge on Ilire herself. And then the abductors attacked and bloody battle ensued.

Once the last opponent was dead, oozing blood and other guts on the rough plank floor of Garren's cabin, there was a short stunned silence while the warriors caught their breath.

"This was far too messy," Ilire observed coldly in the silence. "We should have dispatched our efforts more efficiently and focused on the spellcaster."

_This sounds more like the Ilire I used to know_, Ajantis thought quietly to himself.

"If we are to go after Garren's child, I will be the one to lead us," Ilire added with an iron voice.

Ajantis tensed and glanced at his wife's travelling companions, who seemed to share his uneasiness at the dead calm of her voice. Ajantis looked at Keldorn for advice or support, but the older man averted his eyes quickly, reminding Ajantis that had to take the decision alone. Keldorn, as a member of her party, was subjected to her discipline, while Ajantis, her husband, was not.

The irony of it.

Ajantis felt the eyes of his men resting on his back, no doubt wondering how he would react to being so forcefully ordered to surrender authority. A cold unyielding hardness glinted in Ilire's eyes just then. His impression of abandonment came back running.

"You have the habit of command, my lady," he answered stiffly. "If you wish to lead us, then I will follow your orders as I have many times before."

She nodded at him briefly before she surveyed the room.

"We can function as two groups; my six adventurers and your five paladins. I will not have the luxury of time to shout orders at everyone. I trust you all to be experienced enough with the battlefield to handle yourselves. I will have a word for the paladins of the Order, however, who might be more used to pitched battles than to skirmishes such as those awaiting us. My only order is: focus your efforts. Avoid being outnumbered at all costs. Whenever possible, pitch yourself two or three on the same enemy before moving to the next one. An overwhelmed enemy falls more quickly, because he receives more hits but mostly because he can't avoid everyone at the same time. As for general orders: step back before undead. Sir Anomen can hold them off with Helm's power without fear of being drained of his life force, because he wears a protective amulet. Never break ranks; my archers, clerics, thief and mage will need the protection of a front line to use their spells without interruption. Use ranged weapons whenever an enemy is at a distance and making its way towards you without retaliating in kind. Don't step into elemental damage uselessly; Keldorn and Jaheira are well protected against it by their helmets and will deal with that sort of threat should we encounter one. Remember to await the thief's word before stepping forward; there will be all sorts of traps in this dungeon."

Ajantis nodded absently at each command. "The same as usual, my lady," he summarized. "I will issue orders to my squadron, and we will follow your lead."

She gave him a curt nod before storming out of the cabin, the adventurers and paladins close on her heels.


	18. A Conspirator

Chapter XVIII. A conspirator

Ajantis watched silently while Ilire executed her traditional morning kata. Her figures bore the same effortless grace he remembered, but that was about all he recognized. She moved a lot quicker than in his memory, and he already recalled her being faster than anyone else. There was also a raging edge in her thrusts that had not been there before either. Unexpectedly, he felt as though he observed a somehow familiar stranger.

Detecting a presence next to him, he turned to find his mentor Keldorn there. The older man gave him an encouraging smile.

"Shall we spar to warm up, Squire Ajantis?" the inquisitor asked. A roguish smile appeared on his square, benevolent face. "To remember the good old times."

"It will be my honour, Sir Keldorn." Ajantis started removing his strength-enhancing gauntlets, but was halted by his mentor's chuckle.

Keldorn patted his wide leather belt. "Girdle of hill giant strength. I believe we can spar fairly by both using all our gear. Lady Ilire quickly assessed what equipment I needed most. Obviously she had experience gearing a paladin for adventure."

Warmed instantly to hear this everyday-life detail about Ilire, Ajantis smiled.

"Indeed, she had," he chuckled. "She kept complaining about my strength – or the lack thereof – and my foolish choice of the two-handed sword as my main weapon. Can you believe it? My own wife is stronger than I am!"

Keldorn laughed. "She is also stronger than me. Speaking of wives, Maria will be delighted to hear that you are alive and well. We were all…" Sighing, the old paladin searched for words a while. "We were all very sad when you disappeared."

They circled each other and exchanged a few thrusts and parries. Ajantis thought to himself he should stop torturing himself, but could not resist asking, with more scorn than he cared to admit, "Was my beloved wife so devastated then, Sir Keldorn, to abandon me here all this time? I'm not even sure if she cared to cry," he added under his breath as was his habit.

His last thrust cut through Keldorn's vanishing guard and clanked against the inquisitor's breastplate. Fortunately, they both checked their strength because they trained with real and deadly weapons, and the sword did not dent the armour.

Keldorn's warm smile had turned to a no less fatherly glower. "She did little else for two months, Ajantis. If you must place blame on someone, place it on me. The first night after they escaped Irenicus, Ilire came to ask me if she could do anything to find you. I told her that unless she wished to turn over every stone in the Windspear hills to check if there was trace of you underneath, there was nothing more for her to attempt. She took the difficult decision any responsible commander would have taken: she decided to go after Imoen, hoping that _she_ could still be saved."

His feelings a mix of anger and shame, Ajantis remained silent.

"I assure you that neither of us took that decision lightly, Squire Ajantis. I journeyed to Waterdeep myself to announce your death to your father and family."

"Sir Keldorn," the young paladin began slowly, "please forgive my careless words earlier. The long time I spent in Firkraag's clutches still confuses me, and I had not realized everything that has happened in the meanwhile. I understand the difficult decision that had to be taken."

"I expect no less from you, Squire Ajantis, if you wish to prove yourself worthy of leading men into battle."

The cavalier bowed his head. "I do my best, with Helm's guidance."

Keldorn's tone was much lighter when he reminded his young colleague that they should warm up lest Ilire leave them behind in her unbelievable race across the dungeon.

As they started fencing again, Keldorn inquired, "Do you still pursue the way of the cavalier?"

"Of course!" the young paladin answered eagerly. Then he blushed. "But please do not take my enthusiastic answer as a lack of appreciation for the skills of the inquisitors and undead hunters."

"Ah! Don't worry, I did not take it so," Keldorn chuckled. "I merely expressed curiosity about how you could see through Firkraag's illusion where I could not, even with my training and experience at detecting and dispelling magic."

It was Ajantis's turn to let his guard falter. Keldorn's Holy Avenger struck Ajantis' Spider Bane near the hilt and disarmed him. Bending to retrieve his weapon, the cavalier paused to look at Ilire, still in the middle of her kata.

"I recognized her battle formation and her strategic use of ranged weapons," Ajantis explained. "That made me suspect it might be her, along with the fact that monsters were actually trying to speak with me instead of either attacking or fleeing. I was not absolutely certain, however, until I saw an orc wielding two long swords. No matter what Firkraag would have made Ilire look like, there was nothing in the world to hide her kensai fighting stance." Ajantis turned briefly to glance at Keldorn, then back to the fluid, deadly, graceful moves of Ilire. "Tell me, Sir Keldorn, have you ever seen such peerless skill? Such beauty," he murmured under his breath.

Keldorn shook his head. "No, I have not. But I think there is more to it than that. I would not think to look for such skill in an orc. I think that it was your love for her that allowed you to see through the illusion. With your love, you saw past everything else and recognized the one element that Firkraag's illusion could not strip her of."

Ajantis turned to glare at his mentor, ready to ask him if he tried to accuse him of refusing to see past some other things, but at that moment Ilire finished her kata. Seeing everyone seemed ready and waiting for her, including Ajantis and Keldorn standing there looking at her, she ordered everyone into battle formations. After an awkward glance at his former pupil, Keldorn left him and went to stand at Ilire's right.

Following Keldorn's guidance, they set off towards the ruins to the northeast.

ooooo

When Ilire reached the bottom of the steps leading to the large cavernous chamber where Firkraag resided and saw _what_ the Windspear Lord was indeed, it suddenly became abundantly clear where he had found the magical power to cast the spell which had kept Ajantis and his five companions oblivious to time passing by for so long.

Lifting a hand imperiously, Ilire kept the cavaliers from rushing instinctively to battle their natural enemy. Aside from Ajantis, she recognized two other paladins of his battalion as cavaliers, by their aggressive fighting style and the way they did not even bother to carry ranged weapons.

"Keep calm," she ordered under her breath. "We're not burned to ashes yet, it must mean he's willing to talk."

"And he has excellent hearing too." The dragon's low-pitched voice nevertheless rumbled and echoed powerfully within the chamber. Ilire had no doubt that he could shake the very rock of his cavern if he so wished.

She wished she had the cavaliers' intrinsic resistance to fear.

She slammed the image of Irenicus' expressionless face in her mind, the way one slams a door, and reminded herself fiercely that a mere red dragon was nothing compared to the madman who had tortured her.

Her eyes as hard as steel, she descended the last step. Her booted foot landed on the brown dirt forming the floor of the cavern. She stole a look at the high walls rising on each side until they disappeared in the darkness overhead. The far end of the cavern opened on an underground lake, its dead calm, mirroring surface only troubled by an occasional droplet of water falling from the overhanging stalactites. A few stalagmites rose from the ground a short distance behind the towering red form of Firkraag.

"So, puny mortal, it seems you are conveniently awed by my presence and the grandness of my dwelling."

"I will agree that the size is impressive," she conceded, knowing better than irritating a red dragon by failing to flatter his arrogance, "although I did not come here to admire the view. I have no doubt that, in your great wisdom, you have divined the reason of my presence."

He lifted an irate eyebrow at the uncontrolled irony in her voice, but made no comment. Ilire noticed the dragon had a "pet", a wizard judging from his robes. The human seemed in the middle of his thirties and stood respectfully a few meters behind and beside his master. The mage snorted at her words, no doubt speculating how long it would take before she ended up fried and devoured as appetizer.

However, the prospect did not worry her overmuch; she calculated that she was more valuable than that to Firkraag. She knew not his motives, but he would not have captured and cast illusions on Ajantis and his men, then abducted Garren's daughter, if not because he wanted something from Ilire. So she could safely express a part of her displeasure at being manipulated for the amusement of a dragon.

"Indeed I have," Firkraag purred with satisfaction. "You come here to restore your reputation."

She frowned. "Not exactly. I am here to retrieve Iltha Windspear, Garren's daughter."

The dragon showed his long teeth in a smile of pure evil. "That is what I said: you come to restore your reputation as a fearless and successful fighter. You wish to erase your failure to protect the girl in the first place."

Ilire disagreed with his interpretation of the facts, but sighing she decided that arguing over the phrasing would accomplish nothing. "I guess I am," she agreed, "but it hardly seems worth all your gloating."

Firkraag's rumbling laughter filled the cave and drummed against her ribs. "Ah, but because my plan has worked," the dragon crowed.

Ilire knew instinctively that Anomen was about to do something foolish and, before he could make a sound, she lifted her hand to stop whatever arrogant words were about to spill out of his mouth. In truth, the absence of a fight between Ajantis' and Ilire's group proved Firkraag wrong, but it would be very dangerous to remind a dragon that mere humans had foiled his plans, be it only in part.

"Yes, you did manage to abduct Iltha while she was under my protection. But I wonder, why her?"

The dragon's smile stretched into something terribly ugly. "For the very same reason that I have interested myself in you. Someone needed to be taught a lesson."

"Garren."

"Well, yes. I amused myself watching him fall from his mighty throne of Lord to that of a simple vassal. At first, that is. Lately, he has turned impossibly boring and frustrating. Can you believe he actually _is_ satisfied to live in his simple cabin as my serf? He willingly pays tribute to me and thanks the gods for the lesson in humility I have taught him. Something needed to be done about his attitude. With his quiet acceptance of his fate, he was spoiling my fun."

"That would explain why Iltha is embroiled in all this," Ilire said. "But why me?"

"Ah, that was the most masterful part of my plan. Can you not, even with your simple human mind, understand it?"

She sighed. "Yes, you managed to abduct the daughter of a friend while I was present and make me look incompetent. Satisfied?"

Cold unfeelingness descended in her heart when she saw his gloating, red dragon smile. _If you think I still have any pride left to walk on after Irenicus, you are more stupid than one of your goblin servants_, she thought flatly. Pride was a foolish thing. It only made it harder on you and easier on others when they had the upper hand. Strange to think she had actually learned a useful lesson from the madman.

The dragon laughed again, a sound of pure evil delight. Ilire repressed a wan smile. This arrogant creature thought he was clever and evil; he had no idea of the scope evil could encompass. Absence of compassion and indifference to life itself: those were the true tags of evil. Not this ridiculous smugness for nettling one woman and her companions.

"Oh, but you are much more amusing than I had foreseen."

She bowed, careful to keep the irony out of her voice. "Why, thank you, Lord Firkraag."

"Your performance is almost enough to erase the debt contracted by those now safe from my revenge."

"Debt? What debt do I owe you?"

"Perhaps the druid would care to share her suspicions with you?" Firkraag hissed.

Ilire turned to Jaheira with a feeling of betrayal. She viciously suppressed the desire for tears. _Come on, you must be used to it by now_, she told herself.

"I swear, Ilire, I did not recognize the name," Jaheira began uncomfortably, very unlike her usual ironed and controlled voice. Then she suddenly grew a backbone and she added belligerently, "I didn't recognize the smug serpent's…"

"I believe you," Ilire cut before the irate half-elf managed to make their situation any worse by insulting a red dragon while standing right under his nose. However, the unspoken insult seemed to amuse him and he laughed again. "So you recognize the name Firkraag now?" Ilire pressed.

"A long time ago, before Gorion rescued you, Gorion, Khalid, Dermin and a few other Harpers were sent to deal a lesson to a red dragon in the Spine of the World, because he had destroyed a temple of Mystra."

Ilire squeezed Jaheira's shoulder to signify her forgiveness for not readily recognizing Firkraag's name.

"Dermin… Dermin introduced Khalid and me when they got back to Tethyr…"

Ilire's hand on Jaheira's shoulder travelled across the druid's back and she hugged her tightly. She let go when Firkraag addressed her again.

"You appeared an ideal candidate to take revenge on for those dead fools Gorion and Khalid, who are now beyond my reach to punish. As for Dermin, I hear Jaheira here already dealt him a humiliating blow. The others are either dead or living in squalor to my satisfaction." An unholy and unsettling glow appeared in the dragon's eyes. "Moreover, you were such a fascinating creature, I have enjoyed greatly watching your struggles on your long way here. It had been a long time since a puny mortal such as you had the honour of capturing my attention and being a cause of entertainment."

The dragon's apprentice suddenly glared very venomously at Ilire. She ignored him and his foolish ambition.

She bowed. "I am honoured, Lord Firkraag," she stated, but she allowed some irony to creep into her voice. The dragon would appreciate that she recognized he had the upper hand but could do nothing about it. Obviously he would not get that out of his pet wizard.

Firkraag purred a chuckle. "Yes, you are much more amusing than I had thought. And a Bhaalspawn on top of that. You are on a collision course with many great characters of this world, and the show promises to be bloodthirsty, savage and pleasantly chaotic." The dragon waved a claw in dismissal. "Go and do as you will. It will be far more amusing to see you struggle than tell you what will happen or stop you right now."

Ilire had had just a little too much then. She had been satisfied with the conversation until the dragon abruptly decided that it was over.

"Wait a second here, _Lord_ Firkraag. I fight for a reason, but that is not your amusement."

The dragon flashed a predatory grin. "No matter your reasons, the results remain," he stated, frustrating Ilire with the incontestable truth of his words.

"Maybe," she hissed. "Let us drop the point, as the argument will no doubt prove useless. You acknowledged that I came here for a reason, and that reason is Iltha."

"Oh, that worthless girl." The dragon waved a claw to brush the matter aside. "She served her purpose in the grander scheme of things. She has no more worth to me. You can have her if you wish."

Ilire wondered how one could be as intelligent as a dragon and yet as foolishly arrogant. To think he considered the "grander scheme of things" to be his own petty revenge against dead people. Out of a child, such words would bring forth a benevolent smile; out of a mature red dragon probably a couple of centuries old, it was baffling.

The apprentice distracted her from her musings. He suddenly exclaimed indignantly, "What! But Lord Firkraag, you are going to let them go? Your revenge and the means of your revenge together?"

Sighing, the dragon roused a thin cloud of dust where his breath swept the ground. "I am satisfied with what little part of my revenge I have accomplished so far – for now. If the whim comes to me later, I can always find these puny mortals and take the ultimate revenge for a foster father and a husband – their lives. In the meanwhile, I will indeed let them go. Although I am aware that you hoped to be given the girl for your loyal services once I had no more use for her. I might consider keeping her then."

This time, even if she knew that everyone would erupt in angry insults at this, Ilire let them.

"How dare you!" Anomen said.

"Such evil will not be tolerated," Ajantis vowed in a low, eager voice.

"I won't let a young woman be used in such a manner," Keldorn growled.

"The Harpers should have killed you all those years ago," Jaheira spat.

Aside from those known voices, Ilire could not make out any words in the torrent of righteous oaths that exploded behind her. Once silence had descended once more, she looked up calmly at Firkraag.

"It seems we have a disagreement at last."

A predatory gleam appeared in his eyes. "Would you be eager for a confrontation, then, puny mortal?"

"I am sure I can come to some sort of agreement if you let me _discuss_ with your apprentice in private. After all, you do not seem to have many grievances with the fact that we butchered your servants on our way here."

Firkraag laughed and the mage glowered.

"I am not so easily dispatched," the wizard protested. "Failure in the service of my master means death. Obviously I am capable."

"Then, Conster, by all means go and defend your claim," the dragon ordered.

"Gladly, Lord Firkraag," the apprentice answered, and he dimension-doored.

Ilire looked the red dragon in the eye. "Enjoy your show for now, dragon, but I will come back."

"A threat, puny Bhaalspawn?" Firkraag purred.

She gave a predatory smile of her own. "As is customary to say in those circumstances, I am merely delivering a promise."

He was laughing again when the large group left the chamber. It was a good thing that he considered her too entertaining to attack straight away. Unprepared, Ilire was well aware that a number of them, if not all, would die if a beast like Firkraag attacked. They needed backup from summoned creatures – probably a fire elemental, so it wouldn't be burned by the dragon's breath – and protection against fire – she did not remember the exact spell, but Anomen or Jaheira would tell her. More than that, they needed a battle plan which everyone had knowledge of and had agreed to.

When the dozen of them arrived at the top of the stairs a quarter of an hour later, Aerie and some of the paladins in heavy armour were panting in tiredness from all the steps. Conster stood in the middle of the room, making a show of holding Iltha by the chains running from the binds at her ankles, wrists and neck.

"We have a score to settle first," Ilire told him calmly. "Let her go."

He smirked and gave a brutal shake of the chains. Iltha cried out, fresh blood flowing from the mangled skin at her wrists and neck.

"Yes, you and I have a score to settle, foolish woman. Get your dozen bodyguards out of the equation."

"That is out of the question!" Ajantis exploded.

"My lady! You will not!" Anomen exclaimed at the same time.

The two men exchanged a hostile look. Ilire's icy glare made them look back at her in sheepish obedience.

"Ajantis, take your men out of here. Jaheira, get my party out of the dungeon. Wait for me outside. I'll handle it."

"Ilire, I will _not_…" Ajantis began, but never finished his sentence. When the world covered in mist and then cleared again to reveal the outside of the ruins, he did not bother to state the rest of his idea.

One of the dragon heads over the entrance suddenly came alive. Its rocky eyes and lips became animated. "It's only fair," Firkraag's voice boomed, "don't you think? She agreed to a duel. I am merely ensuring your respect of your leader's wishes."

"And who is to say that you will not join the fight?" Ajantis growled.

Anomen did not say anything, but by the angry red colour of his face, it could be guessed he rather agreed.

The dragon laughed. "Humans and their foolishness. How can they ever hope to pierce the mystery of my motives? Listen carefully, foolish creature. She keeps me entertained. As long as she fights, she does. I have no desire to see her dead just yet."

"And yet you have her fight your apprentice," Keldorn remarked.

"Yes, well, I will not shed tears over her death should Conster overcome her. The point is, as long as both live, the dungeon is sealed to you. Should Conster perish, the spell will vanish. In the instance of her death, should I gather her ashes and send them out to you?"

"By the horns of Sylvanus!" Jaheira exploded. "Vile worm! You just cower beneath the earth like the w…"

The druid's voice faded from Firkraag's ears when he abandoned the stone dragon head to return to his own chamber, to listen with full attention to the detonations of magic and the battle cries on the upper floor.


	19. Lasting Conflict

_Back in business after a conference meeting in St. John's, Newfoundland. Fascinating talks of oceanography and limnology, nice scenery but cold and rainy weather, and cute puffins and lots of seabirds. Two "lifers" for amateur birder me: puffin and thick-billed mures :)_

_But now I'm back, and until the Summer Festival starts keeping me busy with its nights of world music and its one metal night, I should post more regularly :) Thanks for hanging on, and please read and review :)_

Chapter XIX. Lasting conflict

Ilire emerged from the dungeon nearly two hours later. One arm draped gently across Iltha's shoulders, she led the girl out into the sunlight again. Some of Ilire's companions had been sitting on the ground, others pacing, others sparring friendlily. When she stepped out of the dark entrance of Firkraag's lair, her friends jumped to attention and immediately Anomen was by her side.

First, he looked Iltha over quickly, satisfied to find no trace of abuse, and then he turned to the kensai. Her clothes were scorched and drenched in blood, although he could not be sure if it was hers or Conster's.

"My lady, are you injured?" he asked.

She shrugged. "No. A couple of potions took care of my hurts and bruises. I'm just a bit tired." Turning away from the uncomfortable concern in the cleric's eyes, she called Aerie. A look of righteous anger on her features, the elf approached quickly.

"I ho-ope you m-made that stup-pid mage p-pay for his evil deeds and amb-bition," the cleric-mage muttered.

"He died," Ilire confirmed. "Can you take the binds off Iltha, please?"

"Of course." Aerie bent her head of blond hair over the metal cuffs circling the girl's wrists and started waving her hands in an easily recognizable pattern. In a few seconds the spell was complete and the binds snapped off Iltha.

"Thank you so much," Iltha said, rubbing her wrists reflexively. "They were too tight."

"If you will allow me?" Anomen said, holding out his hand.

The young woman shot an uncertain look at Ilire out of the corner of his eye.

"Sir Anomen is a cleric of Helm. He will heal your wrists and ankles."

Smiling timidly, Iltha slowly extended her hands to Anomen, who gave a quick chant. He touched Iltha's wrists lightly and the charred flesh closed under the brush of his fingertips. Gasping in marvel, she turned her hands over to examine her skin, healed without even a faint scar.

"The cuts are gone! I'm healed!" Suddenly lunging for Anomen's hand, she shook it frantically with both of hers. "Thank you so much!"

Chuckling embarrassedly, Anomen slowly took his hand away. "Think nothing of it. Helm would not want an innocent suffering from such villainy."

Putting her arm over Iltha's shoulders again, Ilire steered her down the steps leading to the Windspear plains.

"Come on, Iltha, let's take you back to your father's cabin," Ilire said with a warm smile.

Out of silent agreement Yoshimo and Jaheira slipped into the bushes to scout ahead, while Ajantis gestured his men into defensive positions. They made their way to Garren's cabin without any trouble.

Iltha broke from Ilire's arm a hundred yards from the house of her father, spotting him on the doorstep anxiously watching them coming closer. She sprinted up to him and jumped into her father's arms. Hugging his daughter tightly, he looked up to the sky and thanked the gods that she was alive and uninjured. He only let go of his daughter when Ilire came near, and he hugged her just as fiercely.

"Thank you. Without you Iltha was lost to me." Then pulling back, he held the adventuress at arms' length. "Did you find what Lord Firkraag wanted with you?" he asked gently.

"He wanted entertainment," she answered. "The kind of entertainment only a red dragon can find enjoyable."

Garren let go of Ilire and stepped back in surprise. "A red dragon?" he repeated in disbelief.

Ilire nodded mutely.

"Had I known, I might have received some help from the Council of Six when he took over all those years ago."

"I'm sorry, Lord Windspear, but the government was unaware of Firkraag's nature," Keldorn apologized. "Everyone thought Firkraag's ascension suspicious, but without tangible proof we could not petition the Council."

Garren forced a smile. "Please, Lord Keldorn, I have abandoned all claims to the title long ago. I am content now to be simply called Garren. You were very supportive of me, and I do not forget that many good people helped me all the same. Thank you."

Keldorn smiled back.

"In any event, this is grave news. I will never sleep soundly now that I know I live right under the nose of a red dragon."

"Not for long," Ilire muttered.

"Ah, finally a fight worthy of my skills!" Anomen exclaimed.

Even if she was aware that Anomen had had no intention of being funny, Ilire smiled wanly. It felt good to smile and be amused at something, even if an unsuspecting Anomen.

"The Order will be glad to have a chance to bring down such an evil beast," Ajantis said.

She let out a bitter laughter. "I have no doubt it would be, but this fight is mine. I won't lead an army down there to fight him. I will take my party."

"B-but, Ilire, are you c-certain?" Aerie asked, wriggling her hands nervously. "Firkraag is s-so big, and I can see he is a mature red dragon. A dozen would not be t-too much to battle him."

"You don't have to fear him, Aerie. I don't plan on getting us all killed, but I won't have an army behind me when I face him. I'm a kensai. I'm a duelist. I've made my peace with having a few companions with me when I face an opponent, but a dozen is definitively too much."

She carefully avoided looking at Ajantis while she made that declaration. After a short silence, the cavalier let out in a clearly frustrated voice, "I understand that, my lady, but what is the use of risking lives uselessly?"

She glared at him. "Unless you have forgotten the past – in addition, of course, to those last few months in a loop of time – you should realize you are asking just what the use of my whole life is."

Blushing to the roots of his hair, Ajantis nevertheless put up a brave defence. "That is certainly not what I meant. By Helm, is she difficult," he muttered under his breath.

"Is it not?" she pressed in a brittle voice. "A Bhaalspawn, a seed of chaos in your fine orderly world, Ajantis, the child of an evil god, here to bring misery on everyone and especially those who mean something to me. My very existence endangers countless lives aside from those I've already managed to finish – Gorion, Alora, Khalid, Dynaheir, name them. What is the use of that?"

"Ilire, you know that is not what I meant," he declared stonily.

By that point, Jaheira and Keldorn had both tried to distract them by coughing a few times, but were utterly ignored. It was finally Aerie who, with uncharacteristic decisiveness, took Yoshimo and Jaheira by the arm and dragged them along away from the quarrelling couple.

Ajantis' men had already moved away a few steps, embarrassed at seeing their commander having a quarrel with his wife. Garren, Iltha, Anomen and Keldorn followed in defeat.

"Oh, of course I know what you mean!" Ilire exclaimed, her eyes dry and her voice pitched higher than usual. "Sure I know! How would I know? I remember very well words disturbingly similar to those falling from your lips somewhere in Cloakwood, don't _you_ remember?"

"Ilire, it was just the shock…" he tried, but was interrupted again. With a jolt he realized it was the first time since she had slapped him the day before that he felt like he knew the person he was speaking to. _Strange that it should happen in the middle of our worst argument ever_, he thought bitterly.

"And for a day now you've done nothing but telling me you don't recognize me anymore and question almost each order I give to my own party! How is that supposed to make me know you don't mean precisely that I'm a danger?"

He took a breath to calm himself. "That is not what I meant," he repeated.

"Then _what_ did you mean?" she exploded.

"I meant that you didn't use to slap me when I asked who hurt you, and you didn't use to avoid me, and most of all you didn't use to abandon me to go have another man put flowers in your hair!"

Anger emptied from her in an instant.

"_I_… abandoned you," she repeated flatly. "To go have another man put flowers in my hair." There was a dead moment of silence. With a strange detachment she observed his features frozen in fury. Then she chortled a bit of a laugh. "You understand nothing, Ajantis. Nothing. _I_ don't know you anymore, it seems."

Turning away from him, she looked briefly from left to right to spot where the others had chosen to stand while pretending not to notice what was going on.

"Tomorrow I will go back to battle Firkraag as I have promised," Ilire said. "I will lead my party down there. You may join if you wish, or you may sate your desire to be abandoned by staying behind with your men. That is the end of the discussion."

She walked away and quickly went to Jaheira, who stood clearly visible and had glowered at them while they argued.

"I need your advice on spells to battle a red dragon," she said before the druid managed to get a word in edgewise. "Aerie's and Anomen's too, while we're at it."

The two other clerics materialized by their side, out of nowhere it seemed. Ilire ignored the concern on Anomen's face, the worry on Aerie's, and the fury on Jaheira's.

"What do we have in terms of protection against fire?"

ooooo

They took an early breakfast the next morning. Even though no formal arrangements had been made, the climate over the very silent table sharply reminded that in little time half of them would head to Firkraag's dungeon, while the other half would return to Athkatla.

Suddenly breaking the tense silence, Ajantis asked, "Sir Keldorn?"

"Yes, Squire Ajantis?" the older paladin answered.

"I have something to ask of you."

"Well, what is it?"

"I would like to transfer command and responsibility of my men to you, so you can lead them back to Athkatla. The Order needs a report about Firkraag, and someone there needs to know what happened to us, so another group of knights can be sent should we fail to bring the beast down."

"I will not fail," Ilire stated with a voice as hard as iron.

Keldorn coughed to bring Ajantis' attention back on himself. "I am honoured that you would think of me, but I have my own duty to Ilire. I have promised that I would assist her in the search for her sister, and it will soon come to that directly. I would fail to honour my engagements if I deserted now."

"Very well, Sir Keldorn," Ajantis capitulated. "Maybe Sir Anomen, then?"

Alarmed, the cleric turned to Ilire and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"No," she said flatly. "No offence intended, Jae and Aerie, but you split your efforts between two things. I need a cleric like Anomen."

"I don't remember you having another cleric around than Jaheira back when on the Sword Coast," Ajantis remarked tartly.

"And _I_ remember you saying how much you missed Branwen's – what was it? Her hands? – when I switched her for Minsc and Dynaheir."

"I missed Branwen's healing spells, my lady," Ajantis muttered, blushing.

"Ah, it must have been her 'healing touch' then, yes," Ilire said.

Keldorn coughed again. "Visibly neither of us can go back to Athkatla right now."

"Squire Ajantis?" one of the men spoke up.

"Yes, Barin?"

"Well, it's your decision, but we could go back alone. Five squires don't have much to fear on the road."

After a silence, Ajantis turned to Keldorn for advice. "What do you think, Sir Keldorn? Can I so easily drop my responsibility to my companions?"

"Bah! Why don't you think for yourself instead of always asking Keldorn's opinion?" Anomen exclaimed. "Always following orders like this, you're never going to earn your knighthood."

Unable to form an answer immediately, Ajantis fumed in silence for a while. Whatever scathing retort he might have composed was cut short by Keldorn's intervention.

"True that you were not so eager to listen to _my_ advice while you were still a squire, Sir Anomen, but might I remind you that you were knighted only a short time ago, and had been following quite a bit of advice yourself?"

Blushing, Anomen angrily took his breath, an indignant answer imminent. "Let it rest, Anomen," Ilire said quietly. Turning to her, Anomen felt his heart sink; she had enough to deal with already. She should not have to put up with his petty wounded pride now. He slowly sighed his breath out.

"Regarding the circumstances you are currently in," Keldorn answered Ajantis at last, "I think your duty lies here, by Ilire's side, and your charges should be expected to be able to return to Athkatla alone."

Ajantis bowed his head to his mentor. "Thank you, Sir Keldorn." Then he turned to his men. "So you heard. Pack your things and return to the Order headquarters. Ride hard and keep to the main roads. If all goes well we will follow you in a day or two."


	20. The Confrontation

Chapter XX. The confrontation

"Cast the protections from fire," Ilire ordered under her breath.

They had went as far down as they had dared in the stairway, and carefully avoided making any unnecessary noise for fear of alerting Firkraag. Aerie had already successfully summoned and won her mental battle for control of a fire elemental. The huge mass of flames and molten rock stood close by, its misshapen back hunching two feet above Ajantis' head.

Aerie, Jaheira and Anomen started chanting together the spells of protection against fire. Ilire called upon her own inborn ability to lend more power to her blows. Ajantis used his cavalier's skill to iron their resolve against the fear of facing a red dragon. After a second wave of chanting by the clerics, the six of them were protected by fire. Aerie, as planned, cast a spell of haste on them, and they made their way down the stairs will all the speed granted to them by the magical power of their mage.

Firkraag's laughter rumbled through the cavern when he saw them arrive.

"Back so soon, puny mortals? And, oh, how scary, bristling with magical power… My, I have never seen the likes of you," he finished in an angry spat.

"I don't think you have indeed," Ilire snarled, taking her agreed position right in front of the dragon with Jaheira. Anomen and Ajantis went to take the right flank, and Keldorn the left with the fire elemental. Aerie, alone and feeling uncomfortably isolated, stood a good distance afar to avoid the deadly dragon breath.

"Is that your pathetic challenge, human?" Firkraag mocked, making a show of studying his claws.

Knowing better than wasting time talking while her protection spells withered away uselessly, Ilire raised her lead hand katana and slashed at the exposed scaly skin of the dragon's shin.

"It is."

"You have exhausted my tolerance, puny mortal!" the dragon roared.

Ilire had hoped to provoke him into using his breath right from the beginning, when the fire protections were firmly in place, but her plan failed. A mature red dragon such as Firkraag knew to keep his head cool when fighting for his life against a party of adventurers who, while not overpowering, were experienced enough to give him trouble. Actually, he rather enjoyed the challenge and coldly surveyed the battlefield.

The isolated mage freed her spell trigger, which lowered his magic resistance much too low for his liking. Anything could go through his hide now, and the elf no doubt had a few nasty spells in store. Acknowledging her as the worst threat at the moment, Firkraag began reciting a spell to strip her of her predictable magical protection against fire. He batted his wings once to send Ilire and Jaheira flying to keep them from interrupting his spellcasting, while dancing from foot to foot around the other fighters' attacks.

It would have been satisfying to pursuit Ilire and Jaheira and tear off their limbs while they were still stunned by the buffet of wind, but he had more urgent things to take care of. There would be plenty of time to gut them, cook them and eat them later.

The eldest paladin's holy blade swung in dangerously competent blows. Firkraag had to suppress the urge to snicker in disgust at the holy aura of the two-handed sword. Paladins and their avengers; it seemed narrow-minded if not foolishly arrogant to imbue a weapon to deal _death_ with _holy_ energies, did it not? Nevertheless, the result remained: the blade was dangerous and the grey-haired paladin kept aiming for his Achilles' tendon or the ligaments behind his knees.

The cleric, while not exactly menacing, hit repeatedly with all his considerable strength on the dragon's toes. Such injuries could become impairing.

The younger paladin slashed determinedly at everything that came within range. His furious hits accomplished little against Firkraag's hardened scales, but the superb disregard for the dragon's slashes of the tail belied danger nevertheless.

Firkraag's abjuration spell ended at last, with a blue sphere of magical energies flying at the elven mage to strip her of her protection from fire. The dragon expected the mage to stagger in fear – she was pale enough as it was, if any more blood rushed away from her face, she would faint. Unexpectedly she held her ground, battle-ready, observing the dragon closely.

He suppressed laughter at her useless challenge to better fill his lungs. Fire erupted from his nostrils, exploded through the air and whooshed pleasingly in rippling waves of liquid, living yellow flames. Firkraag lost sight of the frail elf in the blinding flash of his dragon's breath.

He turned his full attention to the older paladin – Keldorn was this one's name, the dragon remembered from his servants' intelligence. He roared fearsomely in his face, discovering his long sharp teeth in a display that never failed to send even the hardiest of warriors running. Blatantly ignoring the threat, the paladin brought his sword about and smashed it right in the middle of Firkraag's lower jaw.

The dragon staggered backwards at the pain that exploded in his head. The other warriors cried joyously and scored vicious hits at his thighs, taking full advantage of his momentary lapse of attention.

"I will crush you all!" he bellowed.

With a powerful blast of his wings, he sent the paladin and the fire elemental flying. The violence of the blow knocked the air out of Keldorn's lungs and his helmed head rolled heedlessly from side to side when he crashed to the ground.

Turning on the others, Firkraag breathed fire in the midst of them to cover his retreat. Taking a step back, he started his next spell. Pathetic hits across his feet followed a few seconds later, but were ineffective to halt his spellcasting. When the last word of power rolled off his tongue, he proudly gave a wicked grin to the helpless warriors facing him, smugly displaying is healed jaw.

However, a new scar had appeared on his perfect glossy scales, he noted with fiery loathing; a slash from the second paladin – Ajantis, the very one he had held prisoner – had cut open his thigh and now, even after the healing spell, his red scales were misshapen, hinting to the stitch in the flesh underneath.

"You will pay for that," he roared. Striking down like a viper, he snapped his healed jaw over Ajantis' arm and bit it off. The man let out a most satisfying shriek before he fell backwards and started writhing on the ground like a metal-clad worm. A geyser of blood sprouted from the wound at each heart beat.

As appealing as the sight was, Firkraag could not linger to watch it. With studied carelessness he picked the shredded armour out of a gap between two of his teeth and tossed the twitching limb aside.

Flapping his wings again, he knocked Keldorn and Jaheira aside. He laughed.

"You will all die!"

ooooo

Anomen ducked and rolled under Firkraag's wing just before it flapped. The breath-stealing rush of air slashed just above his head. The priest pushed all feelings from his mind, focusing solely on the coldly calculating thoughts of a warrior and healer. Not interrupting his roll, he snatched Ajantis' writhing arm from the ground, and sprinted towards the fallen paladin.

In merely two or three seconds, Ajantis had already lost consciousness, and the well of blood diminished steadily with each weakening heart beat. Anomen roughly pushed the arm back into the shoulder socket, and held it there with one hand, hoping no torn piece of armour was getting in the way. He only had one chance to save Ajantis, and he did not possess the luxury of time to make sure he was doing it right.

The dragon's groans of pain, the deafening roar of his flames, the clash of metal against metal-like scales, the warriors' bellowing cries and Aerie's chanting assaulted his ears. He pushed it all aside in his mind.

He fell to the calm core of his being where his faith in Helm resided. A heartfelt and urgent plea, accompanied with a too-long incantation, granted him a connection to his god. Being permitted to tap the divine power of Helm had always awed him, but his urgency was so great that he barely contemplated the feeling this time.

Anomen released the energies granted to him into the most powerful healing spell in the mortal spheres of existence, and focused it on Ajantis' shoulder.

With the spell over, Anomen stayed frozen in trepidation for a second, despite the worrisome grunts of pain from his companions, who still battled the raging fury of fire, teeth and talons that was Firkraag.

Finally Anomen dared give an experimental tug on Ajantis' arm. The cavalier groaned groggily. But the arm held.

Anomen let out his breath and sent an instant and heartfelt thanksgiving to Helm. Taking hold of the paladin's good arm, he roughly pulled him up. At the sleepy grunts of protest, he urged, "You need to get out of the way! I don't have another spell like that in memory!"

Brusquely Ajantis jumped to his feet, testing his arm. He flexed his fingers just once before seizing his weapon lying by his side on the floor. Rushing back to the fray, he threw at Anomen over his shoulder, "I'm fine! Resume battle!"

Anomen could have yelled in helpless frustration at being ordered around by a squire, but he definitively had better use for his time. He banished as best he could his thoughts of injured arrogance from his mind, knowing Helm did not exactly approve of them and he greatly needed his god's support just then, and he plunged back to the calm core of himself.

He used his wrath against the evil creature they were battling to channel down the righteous fury of his god in a shower of hailstones. The spell hit Firkraag just in the middle of trying to decapitate Ilire. It was not his first attempt, but beheading one unarmoured woman proved more difficult than it should have been.

Fortunately, the dragon staggered, the accumulation of injuries from the long battle making his terrible attacks weaker and slower. He had changed his tactics from fearsomely offensive to warily defensive.

Suddenly, while Anomen tried to determine which of his badly battered companions had more urgent need of his healing skills, he saw Ilire slay Firkraag.

The dragon stretched and landed a blow on Jaheira, who flew backwards from the punch with blood flowing in dark stains over her breastplate. Ilire, with an inarticulate cry of fury, drove her left katana down to the hilt between two of Firkraag's ribs. Recoiling and collecting himself, the dragon let out a wheezing breath, but Ilire took advantage of the motion. Tightly gripping the katana's hilt, she used it as a handle and swung with Firkraag's move. Stretching up in one fluid motion, she stuck her feet behind one of the erect plates ornamenting the dragon's pine.

He let out a terrifying roar of pure fury and started moving in wide, sweeping, disorganized moves to try to dislodge Ilire. Petrified, Anomen analyzed with an inaccessible part of his mind that the cavalier's spell must have faded, because fear gripped him so tightly that he could not even move his little finger while the woman he loved was in mortal danger.

The kensai held on with a warrior's strength and twisted about with stunning dexterity, abandoning her off-hand katana in Firkraag's flank. Using both hands and feet to secure her precarious position on the dragon's back, she ran up his spine to his shoulder blades. She dared not go higher for fear of his rear claws scratching her off the nape of his neck. Straddling him between two hard vertical scales, she planted her feet against the unevenness at the junction of scales on his back. She shifted her grip on her sword to hold it its blade downwards in both hands and aimed carefully. She strained with all her considerable strength to hold on while he thrashed about viciously, until he stretched in the good direction and she saw her opening.

When he stretched his neck, the vertebrae parted slightly, giving a window to the nerves unprotected by nothing but softer cartilage. Ilire drove her katana down between the bones and strained in a visceral effort to drag her blade across the massive chord of nerves running inside the dragon's spine, despite the skin and scales and cartilage she had to cut through. Blood welled up around her blade, sprouting up high enough to shower her hair in the fiery liquid. It flowed over her hands and legs to fall on dark rivers on the dragon's flanks.

Stumbling, then falling forwards, Firkraag let out a wordless grunt of pain. His hindquarters failed him utterly, and his forehand claws gave nothing but useless twitches. Ilire's party took a prudent distance from his head, though, because he trashed his neck about violently, letting out little clouds of smoke and occasional bursts of flame by the nostrils.

Ilire slid down from his back on his blood-slick flanks. She looked at the agonizing creature in its big yellow eyes.

"Enjoyed the show, _Lord_ Firkraag?" she asked venomously.

"To… the Abyss… with you," he sputtered.

"What a humiliation it must be, _Lord_ Firkraag, to have a puny human such as me ride you."

His eyes widened and he tried to roar, but only frothing blood and a wheezing rumble escaped his lips.

"I think you will be spared any further humiliation, since you will die shortly," she added. "At least you have _that_ comfort, which you refused me while I was in Irenicus' clutches."

In a final challenge, the dragon filled his lungs in a mighty effort, and he breathed his dying fire in the arrogant woman's direction. When he let out his last breath, the last image he saw were his flames filling his field of vision, and the flare of fire surrounded the one who had brought him to his knees. His yellow eyes glazed over, and Firkraag died with a draconian smirk on his lips.


	21. Mending

Chapter XXI. Mending

Ajantis had half expected a confrontation with Anomen over who would carry her. With the emotions of battle still running high, he had been ready for a challenge. To his surprise, however, the cleric yielded with unassuming diffidence as soon as he exhausted his last healing spell on Ilire.

Once through the ruin of Firkraag's lair, Jaheira briskly led the party towards Garren's cabin. Ajantis followed without question, even though he did not wish to overstay his welcome with the former lord of Windspear; he desired more comfort and safety for Ilire's recovery than the best he could offer in an encampment in the wilderness. When Garren and his daughter saw Ilire's party coming back alive from the confrontation with Firkraag, they welcomed them to grateful and ecstatic congratulations. Ajantis, who had begun to feel the strain of Ilire's weight in his arms, did not even have to ask; Garren led him inside to the ware room, where the former lord and his daughter hurriedly set a comfortable bedroll.

Ajantis carefully put Ilire down. After doing so, he turned to Garren and Jaheira standing in the doorway.

"Please, I would like some privacy with my wife now."

Garren hastily fled under Jaheira's glower. The druidess glared at Ajantis a while longer before turning on her heel and storming off.

_By Helm, warning delivered_, Ajantis thought. Closing the door, he sighed and lowered his head. Leaning against the doorframe with a hand, he remained motionless for a long time.

ooooo

Ilire woke to the feeling of a thumb striking the back of her hand, slowly and regularly. He must have felt her stirring, for she heard his low, steady voice.

"You gave me a scare, my lady."

In a moment of sleepy confusion, she luxuriated in the warmth of her covers, the tenderness of his touch and the loving concern in his voice. Then grim reality crashed down on her head again. In the weakness of battle passed and sleep eroding her defences, she burst into tears. Tearing her hand from his grasp, she turned away from him and buried her face in the pillow, gathering an armful of covers to hug them to her chest.

"Oh, Ilire," he sighed.

His big hand pressed her shoulder and he pushed her hair away from her face, not that it allowed him to see it. Moving to her other side to take her hand, he gently but relentlessly pried her fist open and patiently caressed her now nerveless fingers.

Startling him, she turned her head slightly away from the pillow and hiccupped, "Why don't you leave me alone, Ajantis? Surely you don't need to sit there and watch me cry."

There was a short hesitant silence on his part. "And where else than at your side, trying to alleviate your pain, do you think I wish to be?"

She snorted and cried anew. It took her a few seconds to control her voice enough to speak again.

"I don't know. Surely your duty must call you elsewhere than at the side of your betrayer of a wife to uselessly listen to her tears."

She wondered sadly where the three-feet-thick, magically-enforced, metal-banded brick wall rising between them had come from. It seemed to have sprouted out of nowhere. She remembered the time where she would sit next to Ajantis, he would look at her seriously and ask her what was the matter. She would squirm and come out with it. Other times, he would sigh when he looked her way and polish his armour for far too long, and she would walk over and ask him what was going on. They would disagree and discuss, but they never truly argued, and it always ended with a hug and a feeling of relief on both sides.

Until he disappeared, she was captured, and the wall of incomprehension rose a league tall between them with the league-deep trench of hurt on each side. It seemed all but insurmountable.

"You never seemed to think my presence useless before," Ajantis remarked acidly, although he did not let go of her hand. "Perhaps I should go and fetch Sir Anomen?"

By the way he very suddenly fell silent, she knew he regretted those words.

She snorted in the pillow. "Anomen so has nothing to do with this, Ajantis. He so has nothing to do with anything. We are perfectly capable of arguing just between the two of us." She swallowed stinging tears, wondering how things could have deteriorated so much between Ajantis and her; how their complicity and easy smiles could have been turned to bitter confrontation and hurtful words. "I'm tired, Ajantis, and I need to rest now, not to argue with you. Could you please –"

"Ilire, please be honest with me," he cut her.

She tore her hand from his and banged her fist in the pillow. "By Lathander, I never lied to you."

"I was making a request, my lady, not an accusation. If I ask a difficult question, will you answer honestly? For the sake of everything we ever shared."

She swallowed more painful tears. "Yes."

There was a long silence. He cleared his throat a few times before actually saying, "Do you love Sir Anomen?"

She chortled in the pillow. "That's not a difficult question. It's only hard for you to ask and wait for the answer." She turned on her back and dried her tears. She looked him in the eye a long time, his dark grey eyes troubled, but still hopeful. She took a few deep, steadying breaths to take control of her voice. "The answer is no, Ajantis." She saw his shoulders sag with relief and hurried to conclude before he relented completely and she lost her nerve. "The truth is that I do not know what I feel, and I told him as much, and yes, that was before I discovered you were still alive. I had begun to think it felt good to have someone watch out for me, and be thoughtful, and nice, after all this time. It felt good that he seemed to forget about duty for a little five minutes when I was talking to him. I was alone, Ajantis… with Imoen gone, he was my only friend. There was Jae, but you know you can't talk of everything with Jae; she's like my mother more than like my friend. But I never had a chance to discover if it would go further than that, because you suddenly rose from the grave."

He seemed all at once relieved and hurt. "So you do not love him," he suddenly repeated, and pain disappeared from his expression, as though he had taken the decision not to let any other consideration hold any weight.

"I told you, no I don't."

"My lady…" He coughed and looked at her in his trademark, intense manner. "I cannot begin to think what it must have felt like to think me dead…"

"For over a year," she reminded him brutally.

"Helm, did it have to be that long," he muttered to himself. Then, aloud, "Yes, for over a year. But I had no control on the situation."

"No," Ilire conceded ungraciously, "and neither did I."

"Ilire, my lady… despite the words we have exchanged, is there no part of you that is happy that I am alive?"

At that her eyes filled with tears again. "Oh, Ajantis, of course I'm glad you're not dead. And it hurts so much that we can't seem to become as close as we were."

"Then let me hold you in my arms, my love, and let us endeavour to mend this distance between us."

He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and tugged gently. She sat up in response and he slowly moved to embrace her. Very self-consciously, she slid her arms around his neck and rested her forearms across his broad shoulders. She buried her face in his shoulder and relaxed, his hands tall and warm on her back. His breathing became laboured and heavy as she threaded her fingers up through his short hair.

"Why did you not look for me, my love?" he asked through tears.

She pulled away from him. "Look for you?", she exploded. "But you were _dead_, can't you get that in your head? Keldorn had already spent over a month looking for your corpse and found nothing. There was nowhere left for me to search. With Imoen counting on me to get her out of Irenicus' clutches – what would you have done in my place?"

Troubled, he frowned unhappily before sighing. "I am sorry, Ilire. I would have done the same." Then, under his breath, "Helm forgive me."

She usually let it slip when he muttered in that way, but now she did not.

"Is it really something to be _forgiven_, Ajantis?"

He silently shook his head with a faint smile. "I was asking forgiveness for my selfishness when I did not understand your trials, distracted as I was with mine."

It rubbed her the wrong way, but she controlled her temper. "_Helm_ is the one you feel the need to ask forgiveness to?"

Colouring and coughing embarrassedly, he slowly disentangled himself from her embrace to get down on his knees in front of her.

"Ilire," he said intensely, "I humbly ask your forgiveness for my selfishness in not understanding the trials you have had to endure. I beg you to forgive my absence. I have failed you, my lady… I should have been by your side."

She smiled wanly. "Now I remember why I married a paladin… not even a bard can beat their apologies." He smiled and made to take her in his arms again, but she knelt in her turn. "I think I have apologies to make too. I'm sorry that I didn't look for you – didn't know you were even still alive. And… and for Anomen. I… I'm sorry – you know I paid more respect to your memory than jumping into the first man's arms. I swear I wasn't… wasn't looking for…"

This time, he shook his head and took her face in his hands. "Hush, my love, I know." And he drew her in his arms again. This time she let him and relaxed.

"Thank you, Ajantis."

"Ilire?"

"Yes?"

He pulled away and scrutinized her face. "My lady, I wish to pledge myself to you again. If you will still have me… I will never leave your side again. I swear, my lady, I will never fail you again. Never let you at a madman's mercy again."

Her eyes brimmed with tears and she smiled. "Good. That way I won't have to promise never to let you fall prey to a dragon's illusions again."

Ajantis sighed and pulled her head to his chest. She settled there, her ear against the strong beating of his heart, and they were content with the silence for the first time since their reunion.


	22. Loneliness of an Unexpected Nature

_I admit I'm a little disappointed… I was hoping for a few more reviews on the previous chapter before posting this one. But eh, no matter, here it is. Thanks for reading and please leave a review or two!_

Chapter XXII. Loneliness of an unexpected nature

When dinner time came, Ilire limped to the kitchen on Ajantis' arm under the cheers of her team, Garren and his daughter. Her injuries had unsettled her stomach, so she could swallow no more than some soup, but the relaxed and friendly atmosphere around the table, now that she had made up with Ajantis, made the dinner delightful. Only Anomen did not share the easy smiles and boisterous good humour. He stayed uncharacteristically quiet throughout the dinner, but Ilire was too tired to take notice, and no one else paid much attention to the silent cleric.

After some soup, Ilire headed for the stream and, with Jaheira's help, she cleaned off the remaining blood from her hair and skin. Exhausted afterwards, Ilire went back to her bedroll even though it was only early evening. It was something of a pleasant surprise when Ajantis, after easing her down between the covers, lay down besides her and put his arm around her waist.

Silently Ilire let him slide under the blankets with her. He propped himself on an elbow to carefully arrange her pillow and covers – in a flash she remembered him setting up her bedroll with many blushes and much embarrassment early on in their relationship. Despite his lack of confidence, he had not exaggerated when he had said he knew how to make her comfortable.

"My love, you are shivering from the cold," he said softly, and stretching he retrieved his cape which he added on top of the covers. He muttered to himself, "I should have asked Aerie to warm the stream for her."

Ilire was too exhausted to move much, but she nevertheless buried her head in the cape.

"I had even forgotten your smell," she mused.

He stopped breathing for a moment, before sighing and bringing his hand up to thread it slowly through her hair. He had always done that, combing her hair until he fell asleep with his fingers entangled in her tresses. He had done the gesture countless times before, but it did not feel familiar anymore, only strange and slightly out of place. It felt like lying with a stranger whose each move she could predict, and Ilire thought she would drown in that sorrow.

Her expression must have betrayed her, for he asked tentatively, "Ilire? Would you rest better if I did not disturb you?"

She violently pushed all the sorrow to the back of her mind. In a rush she turned to bury her face in Ajantis' shoulder and pulled him close. She wanted the distance and the absence of familiarity to disappear. She wanted to go back to her feelings and feel again like she used to when her lover held her in his arms.

"I'm sorry, my love," she mumbled. "I'm so tired… would you just hold me?"

Sliding an arm under her head, he pressed the other to her lower back, holding her tightly. "Until my last breath."

Yet the feeling of strangeness refused to be shaken off. It was the chest of a man she was pressed into; the chest of this man she knew well – she knew each muscle, each curve of the skin over each rib, each steady beat of his heart. And yet, she had gone without his embrace for so long that she felt just like she had the first time they had been together: all new, awkward and not too sure what to do with it.

Her exhausted body did not allow her reflection to continue beyond that. She toppled over the edge of sleep and spiralled far down into oblivion.

ooooo

She woke shortly later because of the sixth iteration of the same nightmare. Like the previous times, Imoen spoke the fated words, "You will be too late", and Ilire jerked awake at the sight of Irenicus' sneering face, his words still echoing in her ears. "You _will_ accept the gifts offered to you, if only because of the weak who will suffer because of you."

A man moved next to her and grabbed her arm, but she punched him blindly in the dark and scrambled away.

"Don't touch me, you madman! Don't touch me ever again!" She screamed with all the hysteria of a trapped and tortured woman.

And then, the shooting pain in her ribs brought her fully awake. In the dim moonlight trickling through the small window, she could just discern Ajantis slowly rolling away from her in complete silence, not even drawing a breath.

She collapsed right back down to the bedroll, and tears flowed over her barriers. "I'm sorry, I was having a nightmare, I didn't know it was you, I didn't mean you…"

"I know, Ilire," he cut her gently, rasping and breathless. She had knocked the breath out of him with her punch.

Right then the door burst open. Blinking and squinting, Ilire looked up at the bright square of light until she could see Jaheira in the doorway, standing with a lantern in one hand and her staff in the other. The druid glared down at Ajantis with a furious scowl.

Ilire's cheeks flamed in shame. "It's alright, Jae," she whispered with as much dignity as she could muster. "I was just having a nightmare. Please, leave us alone."

Her face softening, the druid nodded silently and closed the door. Other sets of footsteps approached in the corridor, and Ilire was grateful that only Jaheira had seen what she had done to Ajantis, even though it was by accident.

In the returned darkness, Ajantis tentatively took Ilire's shaking hand. He breathed slowly and heavily, and tears lurked in his voice when he spoke. "What terrible things you have endured, my love. I must ask your forgiveness that it was without my support…" Gently he pulled her down with him to the bedroll and folded her up in his strong arms, muttering to himself in her hair, "I don't need to hear those terrible things listed; it's more than enough to feel her shaking, she who is so strong…" He cleared his throat, and then spoke louder. "Try not to think of him anymore, Ilire. He cannot hurt you here, and I swear I will never let him hurt you again."

She dried her tears against his shirt. Familiar words came to her, but they sounded somewhat hollow now. "Thank you, Ajantis. Your presence… you make me feel safer."

"I will guard you with all the strength Helm has given me. Sleep now, my lady."

ooooo

Unexpectedly, the morning was cruel. Her face, still blotched with tears, felt dry and stiff. She lay in Ajantis' arms, his fingers entangled in her hair, but nothing was left inside her but a barren wasteland. No feelings. No warmth, tenderness or desire aroused by his presence. She watched his face, serene in sleep; a strong, courageous and loyal man. Dutiful. Thoughtful. Who loved her. Loved her enough to forgive the crimson rhodelia in her hair and her statement that she did not know what she felt anymore.

It was treason not to feel anything in return. She _should_ be feeling in return. There was no reason not to. He really was alive, after all those months of wishing he were. She had not killed him despite a red dragon's machinations. They had even reconciled.

But there she lay, looking at his face, conscious of his arm around her shoulders and his fingers in her hair, and yet no answering love sprouted forth from her heart anew, like a stream coming back to life after draught.

Eyes brimming with tears, she disentangled herself from his arms. He stirred and mumbled her name sleepily.

"Don't worry," she murmured, "I just have to go to the restroom."

He groaned something that might have been his agreement and fell back asleep. Silently she exited the room, closed the door and tiptoed across the kitchen and outside. With dawn yet to break, everyone still slept soundly. After the visit to the restroom she had promised, she went to sit on the ground near the pond behind Garren's house, and looked at the sky slowly brightening with the approaching sun.

She sat there, meticulously pushing down in a tiny corner of her mind all her thoughts of love long dead inside of her, replacing them with the forceful statement that it was the shock, that it would all come back to what it once had been, until Jaheira, always the first one up with her senses finely attuned to nature's cycles, came to take her to breakfast.

ooooo

The gods knew she tried. With all the strength of her mind and all her heart's determination, she tried to act as though everything was back to what it once had been. She set her party to explore the lands of Windspear Hills in the next few days, to hunt down the last orcs and werewolves.

She sat next to him at meals; she shared his cup of wine; she smiled and spoke to him around the fire at night before they retired to their bedroll or their room; she reached for his hand when they were in safety; she let him stand to her right in battle to defend her.

Sometimes, it felt as though it clicked back into place; they would engage in a passionate discussion about battle tactics and for a few minutes it felt as though everything was well again. Then they would drop the last lines of their argument and reach an agreement, and she would suddenly feel very self-conscious again. Other times, he would back down in front of Jaheira's commanding attitude regarding the set up of the camp, and Ilire would find herself smiling fondly at the paladin losing all his means faced with the formidable druid.

But those moments were fleeting. Most of the time, she would feel like a stranger, both to him and to herself. Ajantis was no fool, and he could feel it. Sometimes she caught him frowning worriedly at her, but he did not press her with questions.

And, one afternoon while they set up camp half a day's walk from Garren's cabin, ready to head back to Athkatla the next day, she met Anomen on the trail leading down to their source of water. She was going down to fetch water while the cleric was coming up from his bath. With her hands full with two empty buckets, she tried to manoeuvre around him on the trail, but the road was a narrow one. Anomen, by chance of circumstance, chose to move the same side as her, and they danced from one side to the other a few times. They were both smiling in amusement when Anomen took her elbow and guided her one step down, past him. It was just a casual, innocent touch; he let go immediately and went back up the trail without even looking back at her.

She went down to the water, her heart racing, her knees shaky and her morale lowest since she had escaped Irenicus.

She was married to Ajantis. More than that, she had _decided_ that she would love him again, just as strongly as she used to. Then why did Anomen's simple, _meaningless_ touch on her elbow made her heart race so?

Why could she not just set her mind on something and really put her heart into it? Why did she always think back about Anomen, who seemed to lose himself when he looked in her eyes, who never made her feel second to his duty?

When she reached the water's edge, she was distracted, and she slipped. Her feet flew past her and she ended up sitting in the middle of the stream, her clothes and boots filled with icy water. The cold was shocking. The cold was fitting.

She started crying.


	23. Solitude and Welcome Loneliness

Chapter XXIII. Solitude and welcome loneliness

The three days it took to go back to Athkatla seemed to stretch to a very uncomfortable eternity. She managed to avoid Anomen without making it too obvious a manoeuvre, but Ajantis' growing distress at her suffocating despair transformed the journey into a living hell. His eyes on her every time he was not surveying the road. His frown when he looked at her, which started concerned and questioning, only to transform into angry and demanding. The unshed tears in his silence at night.

ooooo

The morning they were supposed to board Saemon Havarian's ship and head to Brynnlaw to rescue Imoen, Anomen went down from his room at the Copper Coronet to find the entire party assembled at a table in the common room. Ajantis angrily paced back and forth in front of a sombre-looking Jaheira.

"Lady Jaheira? Is something wrong?" Anomen inquired cautiously.

With an air of careful flatness, the druid stated, "Ilire went for a trip to Trademeet."

The cleric frowned. "Trademeet? But what does she…"

"Solitude," Ajantis spat querulously. "She wrote she needed solitude."

"Ah," Anomen replied slowly. Clearing his throat, he took a seat with them. "Shall we go after her and make sure she is safe? Travelling these roads alone might not be the safest…"

"No," Ajantis interrupted. "She can handle highwaymen. She said she needed solitude. She shall have it."

Anomen bit down on the retort his wounded arrogance suggested, and instead simply backed down. He felt in a too precarious situation with Ilire to risk getting between her and her husband by a careless comment.

ooooo

When the walls of Athkatla reappeared on the horizon, the serenity of solitude Ilire had experienced for the last three days slowly faded to be replaced by dizzying unease. Nevertheless, she refused to listen to her treacherous and cowardly heart urging her to run back the way she came, and willed her feet forward. She had been away for long enough. No matter the state of torment of her heart, Imoen deserved a rescue.

But with the relatively clear road from Trademeet to Athkatla, the city walls entered Ilire's visual range rather early, and as the miles and hours passed, the dizzying unease spiralled down into nauseating disgust to end up in dull, throbbing, weary desire for it all to be over. Surely what was to come would not be pleasant, but it would undoubtedly feel better than this.

The last miles to the gates stretched to a thousand years, and then the last yards from the doors to the Copper Coronet piled together in a single step. The dizzying unease surged up again and made Ilire's legs crawl with the feeling of ants. Her head felt heavy and light at the same time.

She unsteadily pushed the Copper Coronet doors open and the smell of smoke, food, spilled ale and piled bodies assaulted her nose. She stepped from the dark dusk into the dim candle-lit common room and, forcefully lifting her eyes, surveyed the people present.

She found her party easily enough, sitting at their usual table near the back doors. Aerie was reading some tale to a score of street urchins in filthy rags, many plates of food picked clean lying on the table in front of them. Yoshimo was playing dice in his usual corner and, judging by the red-faced fury of his opponent, was cheating again. Jaheira was angrily tapping her fingers on top of the table while watching the door; the drumming of her knuckles stopped when she noted Ilire's entrance. Anomen was nowhere to be seen; Ilire assumed he must be making his evening prayers to Helm. And, finally, Ilire looked towards the end of the table farthest from the noisy children. Keldorn and Ajantis sat there, discussing quietly.

Her head light and her feet heavy, she crossed the common room. Everyone fell silent as she approached the table, all having noticed her arrival by Jaheira's sudden immobility. She looked around and nodded her greetings to all before finally resting her stare on Ajantis. He looked up at her with a mix of dejected sadness and hope in his eyes.

"Ajantis, we need to talk."

He nodded and followed her upstairs to what had been their room. The door closed behind them with an artificially loud, ominous sound of finality, and Ilire precipitously sat on the edge of the bed before her legs gave out. Rather faintly himself, Ajantis pulled a chair to sit in front of her. The silence dragged on and on while they averted their eyes. Ilire knew she was the one who had to speak, but she could not find the words.

"Ajantis, I'm sorry." Ajantis' wide shoulders sagged with the confirmation of what he had known was to come. "I'm so sorry, but I must be honest with you… and with myself. I don't know what happened… really I don't. I wish I could say it's what Irenicus did… but I don't know. Maybe it is. Maybe it's just that in a year I've changed apart from you, aside from what Irenicus did to me, and we just don't fit anymore…" She paused to cry and collect herself. "I'm sorry, Ajantis, we can't go on like this."

He looked up at her then, something strangely chilly in his eyes. "So it is over, Ilire?"

The sharp words cut straight to her heart. She cried a bit more. "Isn't it? Can't you tell? I tried, I swear I tried, but it just won't click anymore, and each moment just makes it worse…"

He shifted agitatedly on his chair, raked his fingers through his hair. "Is there anything you wish to blame me for?"

She shook her head and tears fell down her cheeks. "No… nothing. You've been gone for so long… I think my heart all dried up and it can't realize that I'm not alone anymore. I just can't… can't feel like I used to."

"Can't you give it another try?" he asked again, more desperately this time. "By Helm, it can't end like this," he muttered under his breath.

She burst into sobs at that. "Ajantis, I've given it the best try I can… if I don't stop right now I'll just collapse… I can't deal with all this inside of me, worrying for Imoen, the essence of Bhaal, the nightmares getting worse, the scars from Irenicus, and now… now my heart ripped to shreds each time I look at you because it doesn't wake in me the emotions I want it to… I'm sorry, Ajantis, I can't, I just can't… I'm sorry. You're… you're a good man. You're strong, and courageous, and you've gained much confidence in the while we've been together… What we had… it was never a waste. I've been happy with you… I'm sorry it has come to this."

Ajantis had started crying too. It did nothing to help her heart. "I was happy with you too, Ilire… but can we not speak of it anymore? It sharpens the grief."

She stood up and pulled him up to his feet. "I'm sorry I hurt you, Ajantis… but I'd still miss you if you were gone from my life. Please, at least can't we be friends? You were my best friend… if I can't find again all I lost when I thought you died, can I at least not lose our friendship?"

Ajantis swallowed his tears and nodded silently, not trusting his voice. It was a long time before he collected himself enough to speak. "I am very sorry too, my lady. I have pledged myself to you; I would not abandon you because you wish to change the state of our relationship. If you wish me by your side, then I will stay and be your friend."

She thanked him, and then hugged him. It was a closure; his arms tightened around her waist, making her acutely aware that it was the last time he held her so, and that he wanted to imprint the shape and feeling of her body into his memory. It was a bittersweet ending of a sort.

ooooo

It was awkward when Ilire packed the last things left in Ajantis' room and went out. Her eyes were red and swollen and the last thing she wanted was to cross the common room to go ask Bernard for another room. So she just grabbed her pack and headed for the roof. Her arrival caused a momentary silence among the local fauna of shady characters populating the place, but when she turned her back on them to go stand at the edge of the building, they resumed their secretive activities.

She looked out into the night life of the Slums for a long while, tears flowing down her face once more.

_It's done_, she kept repeating herself. _How can it feel so hollow and so painful at the same time?_ Late into the night the cold chased her back inside. At least, the shivers had distracted her so she had stopped crying long enough for her face to be reasonably presentable.

ooooo

Expectedly, the morning was cruel. Ilire had not slept much, and there was the unpleasantness of a divorce to be taken care of before they set off to Brynnlaw and might not come back alive. She was amazed at herself, and also at Ajantis, that both of them managed to remain calm and composed while the clerks took care of the paperwork. They had left the Copper Coronet before any of their companions emerged from their room, and when they came back from the Government district, the party was assembled at the table and waiting for them for breakfast. The ordinariness of the picture struck Ilire; today certainly did not feel like any other usual day.

"Ah, there you are," Jaheira said crisply when they arrived and silently sat at the table. Yoshimo left to go ask Bernard to bring them their food. "We were wondering when you would join us."

Ilire and Ajantis exchanged an uneasy look, and the paladin averted his eyes. Obviously this was too much for him. So Ilire studied the pattern of dirtiness and knife marks on the table for a few seconds before taking a steadying breath.

"We went to the Government district this morning. The divorce is official and effective as of this morning, and now if no one would speak of it anymore we'd be grateful."

Jaheira's eyes first widened in surprise before warming with compassion. She silently nodded in acceptance. Other incredulous stares travelled around the table.

"Oh, and, Keldorn," Ilire added with effort, "I am ordering you back to your family."

The older paladin paused thoughtfully. "I thank you for considering this, but it is my responsibility to assist you in freeing Imoen. I do not wish to sit idly by while a young lady is the wrongful captive of the Cowled Wizards. I also feel I have a score to settle with this Irenicus concerning your own captivity and the way he outdid me."

His well-stated argument lacked conviction in the delivery, however. His understandable desire to go back to his family, especially after what had happened between Maria and Sir William, interfered with his perceived duty to try and convince Ilire to take him on the trip to Brynnlaw.

"It is to your credit that you view it so, my friend," Ilire said softly, "but I free you from your promise to help us. You have already done more than what I could have asked of you and I have other worthy companions who will help me in the task. I think your wife deserves that you go back to her now."

The paladin visibly warred with the idea for a while, before he bowed his head in acceptance. "Thank you, Ilire. It was an honour travelling and forwarding Torm's cause in the Realms with you. I hope that you will stop by my estate and introduce Imoen to my family once you get back from Spellhold."

Ilire smiled faintly. "I will, Keldorn, don't worry."


	24. The Voyage

Chapter XXIV. The Voyage

The sea trip to Brynnlaw felt like a moment outside of time, as though they had always been there and would always be there. Ilire spent the first day meditating alone in her room, sitting cross-legged on the floor of her cabin while the rhythmic rocking of the ship sent her spiralling down into herself in search of balance and serenity. For a very long while she looked for reconciliation among her feelings, and every negative emotion resurfaced, one after the other… at times she had to resist the urge to open her eyes and take in the reality of her surroundings to flee the unbearable intensity of her ill-defined unease.

After a long moment of contemplation, however, the smothering darkness started to fade and unravel into its individual sources. The insecurity placed in her by Irenicus; the constant worry about Imoen's fate; the erosion of her control with the essence of Bhaal closer to the surface; the pain from the news of Ajantis' death; the slow recovery of her heart which had started to reach out towards Anomen; the shock, which had felt like fate itself betrayed her, of seeing Ajantis alive again; the impossibility for her feelings to come back towards Ajantis after being so brutally forced to cope with the horrors of Irenicus' dungeon, Imoen's abduction and Bhaal's nightmares without him. At some point she felt rather disappointed in herself that she had needed a man at her side, even if it wasn't the man she had desired at first, to help her through the aftermath of Irenicus' tortures. But after another long while of meditation, she let it go; who would not have needed the comfort of a friend in those circumstances? And she had felt the need for Anomen's presence because she had somehow sensed, even before speaking of her trials to him, that he would be up to the challenge and would know what to say to make her feel better.

And so she made peace with herself. She had been loyal to Ajantis until the end; that the end was the failure of their relationship rather than his death was not something she should feel guilty of. She would not feel guilty anymore. Sorrow still occupied an important place in her emotions, but its acceptance transformed it from a crushing weight into something she could learn from; something that would make her stronger for overcoming it.

With that resolution, Ilire breathed a sigh of relief; reality slowly came back into focus and reasserted itself in her perceptions. She slowly disentangled her heavy limbs and lay down upon the rough floorboards to let the numbness fade from her feet and legs. The knotted muscles of her entire body released weeks of accumulated tension; her throbbing headache, which had not given her a minute of respite in a tenday, had disappeared altogether.

It had been much too long since she had allowed herself a much needed meditation.

ooooo

When she exited her room in search of water and a bit of food, her interior calm made the world seem strangely subdued. She crossed Jaheira's path as the druid came from the kitchen, and the half-elf silently took Ilire's elbow to guide her to her room. Once alone behind a closed door, Jaheira gestured to the bed and Ilire obediently sat down. The druid rummaged in her personal belongings for a while until she extracted a handful of bundled cloth from her pack.

Silently she extended the black silk to Ilire. Curious, the kensai opened it cautiously, to discover dark flakes of brittle choclatl.

"Choclatl!", she exclaimed in delight. "Jae, where did you find choclatl? Can I have a bit?"

The druid snorted. "Of course you can have a bit, child, I bought it especially for you. A black market merchant on the docks sold it to me while Linvail introduced you to Havarian. I heard choclatl is the best remedy against heartache. I thought you might appreciate some."

Gingerly Ilire took one flake and let it melt on her tongue. She closed her eyes to better savour the bittersweet taste.

"You could probably use some too," the warrior commented slyly.

"That is a reasonable assessment. You don't mind sharing?"

With a smile Ilire gestured Jaheira to come sit with her. The half-elf took a seat next to her friend and helped herself to a flake of choclatl.

"So, how are you doing, Ilire?"

"I'll be all right," she said with a quiet shrug. "It hurt to take the decision, but I think it was the hardest part… it just wouldn't mend between us. What I dealt with without him… Doesn't that sound strange to you? I lost him not because he died, but because I thought for so long that he was gone for good, and I forced myself to acknowledge that he would never be there for me again so many times, that when I found him, I had lost the habit of reaching out to him."

Jaheira shook her head. "No, it is not strange, Ilire. Relationships necessitate time and effort… when we are too long apart, we stop functioning as a pair, and become separate individuals again. Khalid and I tried to go on different missions for the Harpers a few times, and we quickly discovered that it isolated us from each other. That is why we decided to always travel together afterwards, and to choose only assignments that would allow us to do so."

Ilire nodded and took another bit of choclatl. "I don't know if it's better against heartaches than other causes of sadness, but choclatl will always make you feel better…"

Jaheira chuckled lightly and took the last treat. "That is for sure. Maybe we should not question it and just appreciate it."

They did, in silence.

ooooo

When finally Ilire reached the kitchen in search of something more sustaining than choclatl, the day had progressed well into morning, and each member of her party but Anomen had already deserted the galley. The cleric sat at a table under a porthole, quickly scribbling something in his journal.

The scullion she went to for breakfast remarked in an ungracious grumble that she was late and breakfast hours were over, even as he served her a bowl of oatmeal and a glass of water. She offered her assurances that it would not happen again, took her breakfast and walked to Anomen's table. He put his diary aside when she arrived by the side of his table.

"I hope you don't mind me sitting with you? I didn't mean to interrupt…"

"Of course not, my lady. Please join me." She set her meal down and Anomen frowned at her. "Are you well, my lady? You look very tired."

She smiled at his concern. "You're right. I meditated all night long, so I'm tired… but I feel much better. Were you writing in your diary, or is it some sort of report for the Order?"

"It is merely my journal. I was writing of my worry for your childhood friend, who I hope we will soon be able to liberate, and of my eagerness to fight this bastard Irenicus who had the foulness…" Blushing, he trailed off. "Forgive me, my lady, I did not wish to remind you of the mad wizard's evil, but the knowledge that each moment brings us closer to his lair makes my blood boil with righteous fury!"

Ilire, even though a reference to Irenicus sufficed to spoil her appetite, made an effort to complete her meal; she needed the sustenance. Anomen shifted in his chair uncomfortably. Finally, he said what was obviously on his mind. "Ilire, please forgive me if you do not wish to speak of it, but I am concerned about you. I want to reassure you that I will stand by you and defend you until my last breath. Nevertheless, we are about to face Irenicus again… I hope the possibility does not disturb you overmuch?"

She sighed and distractedly played with the splinters coming away from the table's edge. "Obviously I'd feel much better if I never put my eyes on the son of a bitch ever again, but… it's irrelevant when considering that he holds Imoen captive. No matter what he did to me… what memories might come awake when I see his snarl again… I will hold together for Imoen. But thank you for you concern."

Anomen nodded quietly.

"I'm just afraid he'll use her to wake the taint in me," Ilire went on. "That's the only thing I can imagine not being able to bear. He already eroded my will with his tortures… I wouldn't put it beyond him to devise a plan to push me over the edge."

Without warning, Anomen's big, warm hand had captured hers and was squeezing her fingers. "Ilire, you can resist anything. You are of extraordinary strength of character; you have to trust in yourself. You can face him, as well as anything else you wish to. Please do not let the twisted bastard make you doubt yourself."

She did not answer or move right away. At length she nodded, and he slowly released her fingers.

ooooo

Ilire had not known how far Brynnlaw was, but she welcomed the respite even as she fretted about the delay. Saemon Havarian informed her that the trip should take six days, assuming usual winds for the season. Halfway through the distance, Ilire felt like she had slept and eaten more in the last three days than in the preceding year altogether, and she felt calmer and stronger than she had in a long time. Ajantis did not exactly avoid her, but he did make an effort not to spend too much time in her presence, despite the limitations of being both stuck on a two-hundred-feet galleon. Even though her former husband seemed to be coming to terms with their rupture, some awkwardness lingered.

That night, Ilire made another nightmare. When finally her companions tore her away from the dream, she found her whole team bent over her with worried frowns. Jaheira and Ajantis were directly over her, the druid restraining her and the paladin holding her hand tightly. Wearily, she fell back against her pillow.

"It's all right," she said. "Just a nightmare."

Yoshimo, Aerie, Anomen and Ajantis slowly left the room, leaving only Jaheira who smoothed her hair back silently. Ilire did not feel like talking – well, not to Jae anyway – so she let the druid caress her hair and relaxed back into sleep. When Jaheira took her hand away from her forehead and tiptoed out of the room, Ilire resurfaced from her light doze and sat on the edge of her bed, trying to sort through her dream's impressions. Finally, she stood up and pulled a presentable tunic over her sleeping shift. She stopped by her cabin's door for a while, listening to the creaking of the ship as it rocked over the waves, and to the silence of the narrow corridor. Taking a breath to gather her resolve, she slid the door open and slipped outside, closing the door quietly behind herself. Two doors down, she knocked.

She was half afraid he might be asleep already, and she did not want to disturb him anymore than she wanted to knock too hard and wake someone else. Her fears proved unwarranted, however, when the door opened to reveal him, standing there with the look of a man who knew who would be knocking on his door. He held a flickering candle in his hand and wore a tunic over his trousers.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

He withdrew from the door and gestured her in. "Of course, my lady."

She entered the small and tidily kept cabin, looking; few of his personal belongings were visible apart from his weapons and armour on a stand in the far corner near the bed. The sparse furniture comprised a small bed, cramped between the door, a chest and the nearest wall. Not wanting to keep standing awkwardly in front of him, but not daring to gamely sit on his bed either, Ilire settled on the chest that no doubt held his clothes. She fiddled uncomfortably with her sleeves while he lit a single lantern in the room.

"Do the nightmares keep sleep from you? I thought Lady Jaheira would calm you enough that you might find peace again tonight."

She shook her head. "It's not the nightmares… well, not directly, anyway." Nervously she raked her fingers through her hair. "Anomen… I need to talk to you."

There was a short, strained silence, and his voice was equally tense when he said, "I am listening, my lady."

"These last days… I've been doing a lot of looking myself in the mirror and being honest with myself. It's something that can shake you, and I didn't have the luxury to be shaken when we were gathering gold to pay for information about Imoen's location. And while I have admitted something to myself… I think I should also be honest with you." Taking a breath, she forced her eyes away from their blind contemplation of the far corner of the room back to his face. The room floated in darkness, but she could see his expression well enough; the uncertainty and the hope there. "The nightmares tonight… they demanded that I come and speak with you, because it is of extreme consequence for the future of our quest."

He slowly came to kneel in front of her, taking her hand. She looked down at his serious, eager expression. "Tell me what distresses you, my lady, so that I may reassure you."

That remark was so knight-like that she could not help but smile amusedly at him. However, her amusement quickly faded to be replaced by the uncomfortable necessity to speak.

"In the nightmare… we were facing Irenicus, and he was not using Imoen to try to manipulate me like I told you I fear. He was…" She took a breath. "It was you Irenicus threatened and tortured. But my mind could not have turned that fear into a nightmare if I had not already admitted to myself that I…" She swallowed, and went on forcefully. "That I care for you beyond the mere bonds of friendship." She went on in a rush, "I know you must think me dishonourable to come to you so soon after Ajantis, and I have no right to expect you to accept being pushed aside and asked for again, but I swear…"

"My lady." He had spoken in a soft voice and he slowly raised her hand to his lips. "I do not think you dishonourable. I cannot guess what you must have gone through to discover him alive again, and to find that what you once shared with him was not enough anymore, but I can have compassion for it. And I do not feel as though you have toyed with me or my feelings; when I adorned the crimson rhodelia in you hair, you told me that you needed time to think, and I was ready to accept that." He kissed her hand again, his dark eyes looking up in hers intensely. "Just as I am ready to accept a closer bond to you now, at whatever pace you are ready for, Ilire."

He held her hand, kneeling in front of her, for a long time, before she found her voice again. "Thank you," she whispered.

He smiled, and did not show any indication to move any time soon. She stood and he rose in answer. He started to move, but obviously changed his mind from embracing her to simply stroking her cheek.

"Please, rest assured that I will not give any occasion to the mad mage to use me as a way to manipulate you. I will stand by your side and defend you, my lady."

She smiled. "And I'll make sure nothing sneaks on your right side."

With his hand cupping her cheek, he stroked his thumb across her cheekbone a few times, observing her a little worriedly. "Will you be able to find restful sleep this night, Ilire? Do you think the nightmares will come to haunt you again despite my assurances?"

She shook her head and closed her eyes. "No, I don't think my subconscious has any more messages to pass along tonight. Still, a little reassurance couldn't hurt."

Hoping he would take the hint, she closed her eyes and took half a step towards him. He gave off a satisfied sigh and pulled her in his arms. Even though she knew it was not a good way to start any relationship, the comparison with Ajantis just sprung to her mind; Anomen stood a good four or five inches shorter, which made it a lot easier for her to lay her head on his shoulder instead of on his chest. Anomen was also stockier than Ajantis, even though both men were fit by all standards.

But then Anomen turned his head and rested his cheek on top of her hair, sighing contentedly again, and she realized that he was abandoning himself to her touch. He was completely dedicated to her in that instant. He was not thinking that it was late and that they would do better to sleep so they would be ready to face the difficult battles that were doubtlessly going to come in the next days; he was not wondering if anyone would intrude upon them; he was not carefully weighting if her embrace was interfering with his duty.

Resentment and release and warm satisfaction washed over her at once in a violent swirl of emotion. She buried her face in Anomen's neck, unable to stop her tears. After a moment's hesitation, the knight tightened his arms around her.

"My lady? What is wrong?"

She took a few calming breaths. "I'm sorry. Letting go is harder than I thought. I don't know… I don't know if it's a good idea to go much faster than this. Do you…"

"Hush, Ilire," he whispered again, slowly stroking down her long brown hair. "I have told you that I am ready to adjust to any pace you wish to set for us. I will be here, waiting for you, if and when you need me."

"Thank you," she murmured, her face still in his neck. His gentle touch on her hair calmed her and she relaxed, abandoning herself to his care, until she was composed enough to pull away. She put her hand on his cheek and his dark blue eyes looked at her with contentment. Something more there too, but she was not yet ready to contemplate it. "Thank you so much, Anomen."

"Do not thank me for making me the happiest man in the world, Ilire."

Even though the phrase might have sounded worn, he said it with such a genuine smile that she did not doubt his honesty. Half amused, half moved, she reluctantly stepped out of his arms. He captured her hand and kissed it once more before wishing her good night and gallantly opening the door for her.

Ilire felt strangely self-conscious when she lay alone in her bed. She found herself thinking back of Anomen's embrace, and surprisingly missed his presence. She needed another moment of looking herself mentally in the mirror to let go of the insidious guilt that she had not felt that way about Ajantis since the third day in Irenicus' dungeon.


	25. Epilogue

_Ah, here it finally is. I've had a lot of trouble wrapping this one up. You'd think writing something so short should be easier. It was all nice and clear up to this point, but I really wasn't sure how far into the future I wanted to go and putting Ilire's feelings into words proved more challenging than I had foreseen at first. But there it is._

_A big __**THANK YOU**__ all who've read this and kindly left reviews or constructive criticism. Just seeing the hit number going up helps :) If it wasn't for your constant encouragement I might have abandoned this one. I dedicate it to you all!_

Epilogue

Ilire remembered it well enough; the racing heart each time you caught the other's gaze, the incessant desire to smile, the overwhelming rush of energy that seemed ready to burst out of you any moment. However, even the pleasurable sensation came to her with some apprehension, and she realized that Anomen did not understand this. To him, requited love at long last had opened a world of possibilities; he could barely contain himself and his enthusiasm, despite the dark prospect of a quickly approaching confrontation with the Cowled Wizards and Irenicus himself. And while Ilire did experience all these emotions when Anomen was near, it was no longer with careless exuberance, but rather with some relief; after the emotional upheaval associated with her previous relationship, she had been unsure of being capable of falling in love. Even though she felt a thrill, it was different now; she felt calmer, more thoughtful, and even a little apprehensive.

She knew, first-hand now, that it was no guarantee – that a fluttering heart did not necessarily mean she had found the man of her life. She could certainly develop strong bonds and feelings for this man, but it could all be shattered, like other illusions of youth she had lost. It could all turn to bitter disappointment and hurtful words.

Her mind held no sway over her heart, and the heart held little reason.

She fully realized the risks and the immutable strength of the sways of the heart now. She could no longer simply jump headlong into a new relationship with a thrill and enthusiastic hope. She let it carry her away, a little fearful, hoping she could really trust her heart into Anomen's care and come better for it.

Anomen did not understand this; for him it was all new and shining. She doubted he could even recognize the illusions he nourished and that could be shattered.

But, despite the apprehension, each moment she spent in Anomen's company soothed and healed her. She quickly came to relish each instant of his abandon. Being second to _nothing_, not even duty, felt infinitely good, satisfying, and soothing. Anomen did not make her feel as though she was asking too much, or that she was difficult or unreasonable. He appeared to naturally consider his partner like the most important part his life. She cherished the vulnerabilities hidden under his arrogant manners, and the complete trust with which he opened himself to her, without fear of her judgement, without holding anything back.

So when Spellhold's ominous dark towers appeared at the horizon over the waves, three days later, she could look towards the future with much more confidence than she used to, because of the comforting presence by her side. The hot sun on her face and the fragrant wind in her face, she reflected that her mind did have some sway over her heart; she could have decided to sink into despair then, but instead decided to order her heart to give love another chance.

She did not deny that it was but a chance thing, but once naïve illusions were shattered, chance was all there was left. She no longer clung to irrational hopes that everything would go right for the rest of her days, but instead took a leap of faith. She chose to risk that love would work this time around, because the two men were different and what she had lacked so direly in one, she had found in another.

Ilire turned to Anomen, who had been standing next to her on the bridge, watching Spellhold emerge over the horizon. He smiled at her and put his hand over hers in reassurance. Something warm and pleasant invaded her heart at the sight of his private smile. Slowly stepping towards him, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

The gloom of harsh reality would reassert itself soon enough when they would set foot on Brynnlaw; for now she indulged the selfish desire of wanting something good for herself. She took his hand and started towards her cabin. A brief hesitation flashed in his eyes before he followed her. However, it seemed her certainty in addition to her intent transpired in her expression, for he surrendered to her confidence and followed her, without questioning her sudden change of pace.

Maybe he understood her better than she had realized, she reflected; after all, he had just taken his own leap of faith.

**THE END**


End file.
